


Death's Muse

by TheFratelliEffect



Category: MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Doctor - Freeform, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Goth - Freeform, Gothic, Homosexuality, M/M, Smut, Vampires, painter, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFratelliEffect/pseuds/TheFratelliEffect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning;

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the rough draft of this on my Wattpad two or so years ago. It is only recently that I have decided that I want to revisit this dark little gem. I plan on making it a lot more erotic and a lot more gruesome. Reader discretion is advised.

"Most people are good and occasionally do something they know is bad. Some people are bad and struggle every day to keep it under control. Others are corrupt to the core and don't give a damn, as long as they don't get caught. But evil is a completely different creature, Mac. Evil is bad that believes it's good."

~ Karen Marie Moning, Shadowfever

~

It was winter. The snow had began to fall almost immediately in the days following December twenty-fifth. The lonely, sleepy town of Midnight Falls was residing in its bubble of seclusion in the due northern part of the United States of America. It was cloistered from the rest of the union, seemingly existing on it's own planet as a soft and fluffy town where nothing was bad except for the spiders that seemed to bite relentlessly. There were a few thousand people that lived in this tired town, and they all lived like nothing was wrong with the world, except for the frequent snow showers or the occasional bad seed that would appear as a cancer among the town's population. Few people came and went, and when they did, they appeared to the vast population of the town as outsiders. They had not been there since the beginning. They were strange and victims of incurable xenophobia, and for a human not accustomed to being cast aside, it was a curse to live in Midnight Falls.

Mikey Way was a newcomer. He had came to the town after college when his grandparents' will had dictated that their mansion was in his name. Even though Mikey had wanted to abandon the chill of the north, he took the mansion and moved into the town, his best friend, Aniese Mara, and her brother, Armando Mara, following close behind.

Mikey was a strange creature. He had blonde hair, thrown back it a widow's peak over his head, and an ear ring connected to a nose ring by a golden chain. Mikey was strange also because of his beautiful tiger tattoo that ran from his shoulder to his wrist. The tattoo was of a tiger in a fierce roar surrounded and covering the rest of his arm by verdant green flora. His reasoning behind this tattoo was only his knowledge. He had it because it reminded of what he wanted to be; Strong and independent like a tiger. Not what he was; Weak and disturbingly codependent on people's droppings like a common mouse. After college, his love for life and hope had been demolished and destroyed as the years had progressed on. Now, he had graduated a little over a year ago, and, quite frankly, he was still at the same point as when he had stepped off campus permanently. Mikey, whom had gone to college to be a painter, had not sold a single painting professionally since his days of college.

Perhaps, and this was what Mikey's own thesis was, nobody would buy his paintings because he was so sad. It probably made no sense to anybody else, but it made sense to Mikey, and that was all that mattered in the end.

The snow was gathering on the windshield, and Mikey pulled the dial to turn on the windshield wipers. For a moment, as his black car drove down the concrete bridge over the raging, dark and icy river marked by sharp whit caps, he allowed himself to let his eyes follow the wipers for a moment. They made little to no difference against the light snow, and Mikey tried to make a mental note they needed replaced, but his thought was cut short by the buzz of his phone sitting on the console. Cursing silently, Mikey turned his head towards it only to watch in irritation as it buzzed right off the side between the driver's seat and the console. This time, Mikey cursed out loud. Controlling his car with his left hand, Mikey tried to squish his then arm in the tiny crack between the seat and the console in the black abyss where belongings just disappear. He tried to simultaneously keep his eyes on the road ahead of him and his hand in the space, but it was difficult. Just as his hand grasped the phone, his car was wandering into the other lane.

Brought back to reality by the honk of a red SUV, Mikey swerved just in time back to his lane, his mistake marked by the yell of a middle-aged mother who filled the air with an iconic, "GET OFF THE ROAD, ASSHOLE" and a delightful middle finger. Mikey sighed and looked towards his phone, praying it wasn't a waste of time, only to see it was his best friend, Aniese.

Aniese was a strange character as well. She and Mikey had met while attending college and became instant friends. She was awkward and pale and tattooed just as Mikey was. Aniese was more independent than Mikey and extremely loyal to her friends and family. Mikey really admired Aniese. In another life, Mikey thought they probably would have gotten married. Probably the most notable characteristic about Mikey's best friend was her lack of eyebrows, which she shaved off as an act of artistic defiance, and Mikey loved that.

"I hope you realized you almost made me die," Mikey answered immediately, his heart calming down after the near collision. The sharp, cheerful laugh of Aniese's excited soprano filled his left ear as he transferred his phone to his less dominant hand.

"I'm assuming you're in the car then?" She inferred, and Mikey could nearly hear the smile in her voice. She never smiled unless she was around Mikey. "Good! I'm really excited for you to do this, Mikes. I think it'll be a lot of fun," She continued, and Mikey could nearly imagine her reclining on her white sofa in the apartment she shared with her brother.

What Aniese was talking about was an opportunity she had created for her dear friend. Aniese worked part time, despite her own dissent, at the local hospital, cleaning bed pans and washing old men because she had given up on her own dream of being an artist. It had been hard for Mikey to watch that. It was through her work that she came into contact with Dr. Iero, Midnight Falls' leading doctor with extensive knowledge in the town's predatory spider population. Although Mikey had never met or seen Dr. Iero previously in his life, Aniese thought it best to enlist Dr. Iero as Mikey's new model for his paintings to aid not in her own, but in Mikey's success. Mikey, of course, was touched by Aniese's selflessness, and had taken up the offer even though he was scared of strangers, especially in this town.

"It'll be interesting," Mikey muttered as he pulled into town, passing the city limit sign. He sighed as he navigated through stop signs, searching for the cafe he had agreed to meet the elusive man at, "I've never even seen this guy before."

"You'll know him when you see him," She said certainly, and Mikey could see the cafe a few blocks away. He was glad because the squeak of the struggling windshields was really starting to bum him out. There was a hollow pause in their phone conversation, and, as Mikey stopped at a stop sign, he knew what was coming. "Mikey," Aniese said in a soft, calm tone, "You haven't returned Armando's calls in two days... He's sad."

Mikey swallowed a hard lump in his throat. Why was it that his best friend had become his boyfriend's messenger? Boyfriend. That term was held by the loosest of bonds. In reflection, Mikey knew that if he had known when he met Aniese that being in a relationship with her brother was part of the package deal, he would have never been her friend in the first place. Partially, however, this was due to Mikey's inability to say no to anything. He was a pushover, and quite the weakling.

The reasons why Mikey had been avoiding Armando were too vast. Armando was, in short, a terrible person, and he was pretty much the polar opposite of his sister. Armando was selfish, rude, and, despite having a genius IQ, incredibly stupid. Mikey had never once in his life found himself attracted to Aniese's older brother. He had black hair that was greasy all the time, and he always insisted on wearing house coats and slippers no matter where he was going, which drove Mikey insane. 

"Yeah, well I'm sad too," Mikey retorted as he pulled into the restaurant, sighing loudly as he put his car in park. "Look, Aniese," The man said, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, "I just need a little break."

"You're not breaking up with him, are you?" She said quickly and almost in a panicked voice. Honestly, her love for Armando was extraordinary, but so was the pressure on Mikey.

"No," Mikey sighed in an exasperated way, "I'm not. I just don't need to see him every day." Preferably never. Mikey pulled the key from the ignition and the engine and heater died, "I'm at the cafe. I'll talk to you later, alright?" His request was met only by the monotone of a dead line. She had hung up on him.

"Christ," Mikey muttered as he closed his phone and shoved it in his pocket. For a moment, Mikey was very glad he didn't like girls. They were too complicated. With that thought, he popped the door open, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat, stepped out, and closed the door behind himself. He stood in the light snow for a moment, and a flake or two landed in his thick eyelashes. A stream of fog burst from his lips as he scanned his surroundings. There were a few people standing on the streets and cars parked along the sidewalks like toys almost. Mikey sighed again, and turned away into the tiny cafe.

There was a thin film of smoke drifting through the air and soft jazz music ran like stream from the slightly static sounding speakers. Mikey remembered Aniese's words. You'd know him when you saw him. Mikey scanned the cafe and saw nobody that he would peg right off the bat as a doctor. Furrowing his brow he scanned again, and, it was about that time his eyes fell on a very, very pale man wearing sunglasses and a scarf sitting alone at a table for only two with a very large, gray husky by his feet.

Mikey was immediately struck by this man's beauty and regality. He wasn't sexy, no. He was beautiful. Mikey took a deep breath as he approached. "Dr. Iero?" He asked quickly, his hands around the strap of his bag as he stood beside the table. The man seated, looked up from where he was blankly staring and turned his head towards the man before him.

"Ah! You must be Mikey," He said, and pulled his sunglasses off. Dr. Iero had very, very dark eyes, ringed with dark bags and a slight reddish tint in the irises. When he spoke, his lips turned up slightly, just enough so Mikey could see pure, sharp white teeth. This made Mikey's stomach twist at the sight, but he realized he was in no position to judge. Dr. Iero was absolutely beautiful, there was no doubt, but at the same time, Mikey felt very poor for thinking something like that, and he pushed it away as held up stress from not getting laid in so long. Dr. Iero held out his right hand, which Mikey noticed was covered in a black glove. "Greetings. It is a pleasure to finally meet you," He said softly and calmly in the most soothing voice Mikey had ever heard, "But please... Don't call me doctor... My name is Frank."

Frank. Something about that name was so ordinary for somebody so beautiful. Mikey shook Frank's hand firmly and then slipped down into the wire chair across from him, glancing towards the husky on the ground. It hadn't taken long for all formalities to be abandoned. Mikey was thankful for that. "I'm really glad to finally get to meet the infamous Mikey Way," The man across the table said, turning one of his gloved hands about, "I have heard very much about you from Aniese. It's impossible to keep her from singing your praises." Frank chuckled at this like he found it quite silly.

Mikey shuffled uncomfortably, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Does she?" He questioned even though he was certain she did. Mikey didn't like sitting here. He wanted to go home and lay in his bed, staring at the green canopy spread like it held the secrets of the universe and the answer to curing his depression. Mikey cleared his throat, taking his camera from his bag. "Well, about the modeling," Mikey was afraid that sounded too feminine, but he disregarded it as he powered on the device and went to the recently taken pictures, "Here are some of the past projects I have done." Mikey neglected to say how none of them had sold. He clicked through a few low quality and blurry mistakes before he reached the starting picture. It was a picture of a painting Mikey had done not too long ago, a black, angry looking creature with red eyes sitting at a table across from a beautiful woman with blonde hair. Mikey had always liked that one. He passed the camera to Frank, "This is my favorite."

Frank's eyes lit up. "Oh wow," He remarked, staring down through his reddish, almost brown eyes at the picture. Mikey watched as he clicked through more of the camera's memory very interestedly. Mikey could see in his mind's eye what Frank was looking at. Pictures of his other favorite paintings. A woman with an eyeball where her heart should be, a dragon standing on a man's shoulders. "You have vast talent, Mr. Way," He remarked coolly, and then, he handed the camera back to Mikey, a soft smile on his face. Mikey replied with a short, shy laugh, looking towards his camera as he powered it down. "These all seem very surreal. Have you ever tried realism?" Frank questioned, tilting his head curiously.

"I used to in college," Those were the paintings that had sold. Sorority girls who volunteered for every nude painting session. Mikey hadn't ever had a problem with it, but it was so incredibly disgusting how quickly they would sell to skeevy men in the art store two days later. "I just... Haven't had a model since then," Mikey continued, shrugging his shoulders as he returned his camera to his bag. This was true. Since moving to Midnight Falls, Mikey had been searching for a model whole-heartedly, but his search was fruitless due to his social anxiety.

"Oh, pity," Frank said with a sense of disappointment that one might hear from an old grandmother who was constantly interested in every breath her beloved grandchild took. Frank suddenly began to smirk as he caught Mikey's attention at once, "Well... You have a model now."

Mikey's face lit up at once. For some reason, the idea of a man so beautiful agreeing to be naked in front of him, even if it was only for work, seemed so ridiculous. "Thank you!" Mikey gasped, and he shook Frank's hand again excitedly, "Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me."

Frank only smirked as he pulled his hand away gently. "Oh please," He hummed as he slid his glasses back on coolly, "The pleasure is all mine." Frank pulled his hood over his head, and Mikey was in awe that one human could be so genuinely gorgeous. He was trying to push away those thoughts, but it was so incredibly difficult. Mikey tried to think about anything else, but he could not. For a moment, Mikey toyed with the idea of paying Armando a visit sometime soon to deal with this frustration.

At once, Mikey brought himself back to reality when he realized Frank was packing up to leave. "Wait," He gasped, holding out one hand. Frank stopped, standing beside the table, his dog's leash in his hands, watching Mikey with a raised eyebrow. "I'd like to do a short test session just... Just to be sure it'll work out. Would that be okay?" Mikey questioned, feeling a ball of nervousness settle in his stomach.

"Of course," Frank replied, twisting the red leash in his hands, "I'll be by tomorrow evening around six. Is that okay?" Mikey nodded his head, finding himself unable to speak. A small smirk appeared on Frank's face very mischievously again. "Till then," Frank muttered sweetly. He tugged on the dog's leash, whom rose with a short sound of annoyance from being awoken from its nap, and both the man and the dog disappeared out the door, leaving Mikey alone at the table, his heart pounding. What a strange man. Words could not describe how excellent he felt. Finally, he could return to the one thing he excelled at. It wasn't that he didn't love his surreal paintings, Mikey sure did, but realism was what he had perfected in college. Mikey smiled to himself. This time, however, he wouldn't be painting slutty girls.

With that thought, Mikey rose too, and he realized he had not bought a single thing at this cafe. It didn't really matter, it just felt weird. He grabbed his bag, slipping the strap over his shoulder and leaving the quite cafe. A few moments later, the man was sitting in his car, brain buzzing with excitement. He was prepared to leave, key in the ignition when a buzzing in his pocket started him. "What now?" Mikey muttered bitterly. Sometimes, he just wanted to throw his phone out of a window. The only two people who ever called him only called to bother him. Mikey pulled the phone from his pocket and, of course, it was one of the two.

Armando.

Mikey desperately just wanted to ignore the screened call, but he remembered what Aniese had said. Armando clung to Mikey like a staticky sock. If two days went by where they didn't talk, Armando suddenly became Attila the Hun, and that drive Mikey insane. But... As much as he wanted to sever Armando, Mikey could not. Even though Armando was a leech on Mikey's stomach, Mikey could not find the strength to pluck him off.

He flipped the phone open. "What?" He spat bitterly.

"Oh so you're not ignoring me now?" Armando's high pitched voice snapped through the phone, "I tried calling you twice yesterday and twice this morning. Why didn't you answer?"

Mikey sighed softly, "I've been busy." As if laying face down in your own bed sobbing like a child qualified as busy.

"I'm your boyfriend," Armando needlessly reminded, his voice thick with rage, "You're supposed to answer me when I call. Understand?" Mikey rolled his eyes, picking at a hole in his jeans. Mentally, he was far away from this stupid conversation. He was already living in the following evening with his muse. His heart beat just a bit faster at the thought. "Mikey!" Armando snapped again, "Do you understand!?"

"Oh, what?" Mikey said, popping his head up from where his eyes were staring emptily, "I mean yeah... Of course."

"Are you even listening to me?" Armando demanded, disgusted that his beloved was finding better things to do than grovel to the man that bullied him. "You're acting like a child! I wish you'd just grow up and pay attention to me for once. I have needs too," Armando sputtered, and Mikey was certain he was crying on the other end. "Sometimes, I just want to see you, and I'm really sad and you never answer me. Okay? That makes you a bad person," He continued, cries turning to wails. Mikey wondered how long he'd go on for, "I just miss you. You know I wanna marry you someday."

Mikey did know. Armando told him all the time. Mikey also knew he would never, ever marry Armando. Not if it was a life or death situation. Mikey didn't respond. He could feel the tears of regret well in his eyes. He wished he had the nerve to tell Armando he could do better, to break it off and move on because there was absolutely nothing left for him. Mikey wanted to tell Armando he deserved to be happy, even though Armando was a terrible person.

"You know what, Mikey?" Armando hissed after a few seconds only marked by soft sobs, "You're really hard to love sometimes."

And then, the line went dead.

Mikey set the phone down by the gearshift and wiped the tears from his eyes. Nobody on the planet, he decided, should ever feel the way that he felt at that moment. Guilty and full of dread. Mikey did not love Armando, and most of the time, he wasn't even sure if Armando actually loved him, or if he only kept Mikey around to fill the whole left in his eternally empty soul. Mikey let his head roll back as he sighed, feeling the tension release in his neck. He felt sick.

Back in college, Armando had been different and more enjoyable. For a short time, Mikey did honestly think he had feelings for the man with a genius IQ, but that was quickly cast away. He did not, and he would never. Mikey slowly pulled his hands from his eyes and blinked in the afternoon overcast. He just needed a nap was all. With that thought, Mikey turned the ignition, his car rolled to life, and Mikey drove the long and very empty drive home.

Swallowing a lump of sadness that could not leave his throat, Mikey realized his only desire was to be happy.


	2. The First Time

The following evening, Mikey was waiting eagerly for the arrival of his model, and at six, just as they had planned, the strange man arrived outside the front door of Mikey's home. When Mikey answered the door, he saw Frank standing on the steps. Frank was wearing a large coat, scarf, hat, hood and sunglasses, and his hand was wrapped around a red leash where his large husky was attached at the end. The only visible part of his skin was his chin and lips which curled into a small smirk when he saw Mikey at the front door. 

"Ah, Mikey," He greeted as Mikey opened the door to allow Frank to enter. Frank stepped into the large home and immediately began to remove his layers and layers of clothing. "I had been waiting all day eagerly until the evening," Frank said in his usual slow and calm demeanor. Mikey watched, his eyes wide, as Frank continued to remove layer after layer, placing them on the coat rack to the right. "Work was torturous... All I could think about the whole day was seeing you," Frank let out a soft gasp as he finally pulled of his coat, laying it on the rack.

Mikey blushed slightly. "O-Oh yeah?" He mumbled uncomfortably as Frank stretched his arms. Beneath the coat, Frank was wearing a white dress shirt, grey vest and pants, and a red tie. He looked positively, for lack of a better word, snazzy. The dim light gleamed off of his reddish brown eyes, and they almost glittered. Mikey didn't say anything though, and he directed his eyes towards the floor for a moment timidly. He could hear Frank walk around towards the rest of the house.

"I'm really quite curious of your house, Mr. Way, and I would absolutely adore it if you would be so kind as to show me around," He said, his voice practically radiating the sense of propriety the man seemed to thrive in. Mikey really liked that, but he wasn't sure why. He could tell Frank was smart just by looking at him. It wasn't that way with Armando. Mikey took a step forward, nearly tripping over the large dog.

"I could show you around if you want," Mikey offered nervously. He wasn't sure he liked that idea, but he also wasn't sure about just telling Frank to strip without any sort of small talk or conversation. That seemed... Wrong. Frank turned back towards Mikey, a very stunning smile on his face. He obviously liked the sounds of that.

"That would be wonderful," Frank said, stepping off towards the rest of the house, the dog following obediently. Mikey wasn't sure about how he felt about such a large animal bounding through his home, but he didn't feel like he should say anything.The painter nodded and led Frank away from the entryway. Mikey showed Frank around the mansion he had inherited. Mikey really did love his home. It was spacious, yet rather crowded with furniture and objects of differing colors and designs. Mikey was incredibly proud of the eccentric style he had developed. His house was a patchwork mixture between two styles. Old and new, and Mikey really enjoyed that. His home was probably the only place on earth he truly felt at peace, like he lived on his own little planet, but it was lonely all by himself. No matter how much art and furniture he crowded between the walls, it wasn't the same as another person.

After the concise tour, Mikey stopped when they reached the basement turned painting studio. Various works in progress were laying along the walls, waiting to be grazed with Mikey's brush again, even though now they probably never would. The large husky bumbled along and found a corner it liked, curling up with a sigh. During the night before, Mikey had turned the easel to face a corner, pulled up an old, white Victorian sofa with red curtains as a backdrop. It looked nice enough. The lighting was decent. He only hoped Frank would like it. 

"This is where we'll probably be... Uh... Painting," Mikey offered, gesturing towards the sofa. Frank smirked, eyeing the set up as he stepped forward. There was a certain glint in his eyes that told Mikey he liked it, and he was pleased. Mikey was about to speak and give the awkward directions when Frank stepped forward on his own and stripped his nice clothes from his body. All of them.

Mikey's mouth dropped open. He didn't even have to ask. Realizing how stupid he must look, Mikey slammed his mouth shut with a pop, blinking towards the floor, but the image of Frank's bare back was burned into his brain. He was beautiful, like a Greek God. His body chiseled like marble. Veins barely pushed out against the porcelain skin. His WHOLE body was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Are we ready to start?" The man asked, holding open his bare arms simply. Mikey raised his eyes nervously only to see the front side of his model now. His cheeks instantly turned red as his eyes had accidentally glazed over Frank's genitals. It was just as impressive as the muscles on his abdomen and arms, full of mass and rather long, barely obscured by black, curly pubic hair at the base in a neat formation, and Mikey felt close to crying at the sheer sight. He almost felt like he wasn't worthy to look. "Mikey?" He called again, a soft laugh in his voice, "Are you quite alright?"

At that second, Mikey snapped out of his staring, absolutely mortified. It felt rotten, but the sight of Frank made him want to do things. He shouldn't feel that way. He did have a boyfriend after all. There was no cheating in just looking, so why did the painter feel so dirty? Mikey cleared his throat, throwing his hair back. "Yeah, yeah of course," Mikey muttered, and he directed Frank towards the couch, pulling a white shawl from over the side of the couch. He really didn't feel like having to paint excruciating details on male genitals today, especially not now that he was hard as a rock. "Just... Uh... Lay on your back," Mikey said, and Frank did as he was told, laying on the couch, his head against a white pillow. "I'm going to have to touch you," Mikey warned, directing his eyes to Frank's and Frank's eyes only. It was very hard to keep them from wandering, but he didn't want to seem like a pervert more so than he already had.

"Of course," Frank murmured in a very disturbingly calm voice, his arms by his side. Mikey didn't like that. He took Frank's arms in his hands, finding that they were much more muscular than he had seen with just his eyes. Firm, tense. His heart began to race as he moved Frank's arms above his head. That looked nice. Mikey didn't want to take his hands off of Frank's forearms, but he had to. With a blank face, Mikey pulled away and took a step back.

Frank's crotch was still in the open, and in Mikey's peripheral vision, but Frank really didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed proud. Mikey couldn't blame him. He only watched Mikey with very inquisitive eyes and the smallest smirk on his lips like he knew how aroused the painter was from the brief glimpse. He couldn't paint like this. Mikey moved forward and quickly covered it with the shawl, draping it rather artistically from the top of the couch. That looked okay.

"Really?" Frank questioned, laughing quietly. He obviously found that funny. "Is my body that repulsive?" He sounded playful, but Mikey wasn't playing. Mikey's face turned fifty shades of red, and his stomach started to ache.

"No, it's not," Mikey mumbled, and he directed his eyes and hands to Frank's sturdy, chiseled legs, taking one in his calloused hands. "It's only for the test painting," He said, trying to defend himself in any way he could. Mikey couldn't bare to tell the truth of the matter, that he may spontaneously orgasm if he stared too long. Mikey moved each leg over the arm of the couch, so they were dangling off rather elegantly, slightly feminine. Mikey took another step back and gazed over his potential muse, his face red as he pushed up his dorky glasses. He felt like such a pathetic nerd. Frank was still watching him with that adorable, superior smirk on his face.

It never took Mikey that long to position somebody. Ever. Back in his college days, he usually only spent a few seconds moving the girls, but now, five minutes had passed by, and he wasn't even done. Mikey moved forward, and he let his hands trace over Frank's arms and chest. He wasn't sure what he was doing, only that he knew something wasn't right. Something about Frank or this room or the way he touched Frank wasn't right.

"What are you doing there?" The man said softly, but the sense of playfulness was mostly gone. Mikey raised his eyes to see Frank watching him. Their eyes locked, and a spark shot through the painter, his stomach twitching with anxiety. Mikey shook his head.

"Just making sure everything is alright," Mikey said quickly. He took a step back and decided this would be good enough. Mikey bit his lip, stepping back towards the easel, picking the blank canvas from the ground. "Keep your face towards me," Mikey directed in a quiet, airy voice, and he began to mix his paint. Creamy white for the couch. Blueish white for Frank's skin. Black for his hair. Dark red for his eyes. Black for the wall and the shadows. Mikey allowed his paintbrush to drift across the canvas, transferring the scene that was before him to where it would exist perfectly on a wall somewhere until the paint chipped and faded to nothing. 

Mikey was a very skilled and very quick painter. Somebody back in school had jokingly called him "The Bob Ross of Naked Sorority Girls". He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. However, as Mikey stood there, he found it extremely difficult to paint. Mikey felt like he had almost forgotten how to paint, and the thought of that terrified him, but after what felt like a decade, he found his groove and jumped back into the rut he had created quite willingly. Mikey passed off the difficulty off because he just hadn't painted in such a long time. Yes, that was it. He tried not to think about how every few minutes he would have to rip his eyes away from the beauty that lay like a god before him. How could one human possess so much perfection in one body?

Hours went by, and Frank didn't move a single muscle or speak a single word, and Mikey loved that. Even the husky huffing in the corner barely moved. When he would paint in college, the models were always so chatty or just suddenly had to use the bathroom even though they had the opportunity at any given point before then. Mikey finally took a step back, wiping the tiny beads of sweat from his brow. Splotches of white and black paint decorated up and down his arms and his old, flannel shirt. Even a spot had landed on the edge of his nose.

"We're done," He gasped, out of breath from the extreme amount of energy that had been exerted. Mikey felt very tired. He had forgotten how much work his craft really required, especially mentally. Frank smirked, seemingly coming from his stony state, and he took the shawl from his crotch, stood and slid on his clothes as Mikey stared down at the floor like it was absolutely enthralling. After Frank had tied his tie, Mikey raised his eyes. "Do you wanna see the painting?" Mikey requested, picking up the still wet canvas carefully. It wasn't his best painting, but he didn't quite mind.

"Very much so," Frank said, smirking warmly. Mikey turned the canvas towards him and the red eyes of his model lit right up. "Oh wow..." Frank whispered, eyes running over the canvas, he clasped his hands together, grin surfacing and replacing the smirk, "You have so much talent, Mikey."

"So... Is it good enough-" Mikey mumbled, but he didn't know what else to say or finish the sentence. Somehow, he just needed to hear that Frank really liked it. He needed to for his own sake. Frank reached forward, placing his hand under the chin of the other male, his lips curled up sweetly.

"Of course, Mikey. Of course," He said softly, and he let the man's face go. Mikey felt uncomfortable from the invasion of personal space, but at the same time, his heart began to leap. Finally, he was back in his groove, and even those small bits of approval from his muse lifted his spirit considerably. He could continue with what he loves. Maybe things would get better from now on.

"God... Thanks, Frank," Mikey mumbled, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. Even though he was immensely happy, he couldn't feel a smile. Perhaps that would come later. "Thank you so much," He breathed, feeling very excited. His heart could not stop racing. He had the most beautiful model in the world. Mikey, for a moment, thought about what it would be like to not be struggling to make end's meet for once. Before Frank had responded though, Mikey realized how creepy he was, holding the painting of a naked Frank in his hands. "Er..." Mikey said uncomfortably, holding out the canvas, "Do you... Want this?" Mikey had no idea what Frank'd do with it, but he sure as hell didn't want it. Armando would drag him into the street and shoot him if he ever found it.

Frank responded with a seductive smile as he turned away. "You keep it," He said in a very sultry tone as he turned away and snapped his fingers, "Come along, Alabaster." The husky rose automatically and followed Frank's heels as he turned up the metal spiral staircase and disappeared up into the ground floor.

Mikey stood there in shock, staring at the painting. For a moment, he wished that he hadn't covered Frank with a shawl, even though the image earlier of the doctor's massive cock was burned into his brain. It probably wasn't going to leave anytime soon. Immediately after that thought entered his brain, he wished it was gone. How rotten. Maybe he deserved to be drug into the street and shot. 

Suddenly, Mikey realized he had forgotten to ask when he could see Frank again. Mikey laid the painting against the wall and sprinted up the stairs only to find that Frank was already out the door. Cursing silently, Mikey ran after him, out into the falling snow. Why was it always snowing? The black Mercedes was pulling away down the driveway. Mikey cursed again and ran down the drive waving his arms like a madman. It was freezing out here, and here Mikey was without a coat or a jacket, running towards a car.

The car stopped, and the tinted driver's side window rolled down to reveal Frank back in his winter attire, and a whimpering Alabaster in the passenger seat, head hung low. Mikey was huffing and puffing when he finally got to the window, pressing his hands against the car. Frank began to smirk, "Do you always chase cars? Do you need a leash?"

Funny.

"No," Mikey huffed, and his panting turned to shivering. He really hated the cold. "I... I didn't.... When can we meet up again?" He really, really wanted to go back inside. He was shaking.

Frank's signature seductive smirk returned, but it wasn't as effective because his red eyes were hidden by the thick, round sunglasses that shielded him. "Whenever works for you," Frank offered, shrugging his shoulders like it didn't matter. That seriously annoyed Mikey.

"Tomorrow night?" Mikey almost snapped exasperatedly, shaking uncontrollably as the wind turned his cheeks pink. 

Frank only replied with a smirk and rolled up the window,

Mikey, feeling incredibly not amused, took a step back and watched as Frank continued backing out of the driveway into the street, turned, and then disappeared off towards the bridge to town. Mikey watched until the car vanished, letting the snow settle in his blonde hair. What had just happened was completely beyond him. How could one man be so... Strange?

Mikey sighed, turning away back towards the house, his mind roaming back to what he had seen today with just the slightest sense of satisfaction. That had been only the second male he had seen naked in his adult life, and wow, he really, really liked it. He'd have to find somewhere to hide that painting so Armando's digging eyes would never stumble upon it. He hoped Armando never would. He would burn it, and Mikey really didn't want that. The painting was special. Compared to Armando, there was no comparison in all honesty. Armando was a peasant, and Frank was a God. That was all there was to it. Frank was weird. Frank played Mikey like a violin for some reason. Maybe it was his smirk. His filthy, annoying, dirty, adorable, amazing smirk. Or his unusual eyes.

Whatever it was, Mikey was really starting to like it.


	3. The Second Time

The memory of Frank had not yet left Mikey's mind. Mikey wasn't complaining though. Throughout the night and into the next day, he tried his hardest to think of another human being who had a better body than Frank Iero. These wanderings were completely futile. The entire time after Frank had left, Mikey laid in his bed, staring at the top of the green canopy thinking and wandering back to their time together. It almost felt like it hadn't even happened.

Around noon the following day, Armando had called, begging for Mikey's appearance. Mikey had so desperately wished to say no, but a part of him felt bad. Armando did not know that he had spent four hours the previous day staring at a naked man. Even though Mikey did not love Armando, he still felt filthy. So, Mikey obliged, and it wasn't until he was crossing the bridge into Midnight Falls that he even realized what he had agreed to.

And now, it was nearly six PM and the two had barely spoke, sitting silently and motionless on opposite sides of the couch, staring at the television. Mikey was incredibly bored. He wasn't the type of person who could just sit and watch television for hours upon hours. He was too smart, and he knew Armando was as well. This phony cover up was because Armando was worried about losing Mikey. He didn't want to scare Mikey off. Mikey felt a twinge of guilt, but every time they spent time together, this was what they did. His hazel eyes roamed around the industrial apartment, grazing over the open pipes and brick walls. Portraits and paintings of naked people hung openly on the walls, decorations from back in the good old days that he and Aniese had created. He even remembered some of them, but he almost didn't want to. It felt weird and inadequate compared to the previous date. The old paintings almost seemed... Immature. Artistically, they were completely on par, but... They just felt so insincere. Especially from Aniese. Maybe that was because of her change in career, but Mikey didn't know.

Occasionally, Mikey's eyes would roam across the sofa, and he'd glance towards the man he unwillingly called his boyfriend. His long, dark hair was slightly greasy. Mikey knew that he rarely washed it because forcing him into the shower for more than a rinse was basically a war. Armando had a roundish face with an un-pronounced jaw and almond-shaped, dark brown eyes beneath thick, dark eyebrows. He was tall, taller than Mikey, a few inches under six feet. He was a bit on the round side, a layer of fat over his stomach and under his chin, but he wasn't overweight, only average. Everything about Armando was average, save for his brain.

Today, Armando was in his typical attire; light red house coat, holey, blue jeans, and light blue slippers. He looked just like what he was- A slacker. Armando didn't work, and Mikey could never remember a time that he had held down a job for more than two weeks. He wasn't lazy. No, Armando was just incompetent as a headless chicken. He couldn't take orders as he was extremely obstinate most days. On good days, Armando simply would confuse himself. In retail, he'd grow frustrated with scanning items and simply walk off instead of solving the issue. In food service, he had a hard time understanding customers orders, which usually resulted in a shouting match. These incidents happened every couple of months when Aniese would force him to seek work. Mikey considered him the stupidest person he had ever met in his life, which was ironic, considering the man had a genius IQ.

Aniese blamed it on what had happened to Armando, mercilessly bullied as a child, but she always said that wasn't an excuse for his terrible behavior. However, it seemed to Mikey that was all talk because she only ever used that as an excuse for his actions. Mikey never verbalized this because he didn't really think it was his place, but the way his friend coddled Armando was absolutely cringe-worthy.

Aniese wasn't even home, so Mikey couldn't use that excuse to escape to the kitchen, mooch some tea, and have a very logical conversation with her rather than soaking up the awkwardness irradiating from the man beside him. Mikey would love spending time with Aniese. In all his life, she was arguably the best friend that Mikey had ever made. They had met in his first art class his freshman year of college, and it had been love at first sight, of course without any actual romantic love. And that was the way Mikey preferred it. Aniese was the only person he truly had.

Mikey glanced at the clock one more time to see it was landed starkly on six o'clock. He had to meet Frank soon. That was his cue. Wordlessly and without any sound, Mikey stood, grabbing his coat and walking towards the door. Armando, before Mikey had even taken a step, piped up, "Where are you going?"

The way he whimpered that one sentence made Mikey feel terrible instantly. The painter swallowed hard, fists clenching in anxiety. "I've got a session with a model," Mikey muttered, slinging his coat on, but he didn't dare move a step. He could hear Armando heave his body off the coat, rolling up his sleeves. Mikey could feel his nervousness instantly rise.

"OOOOOH," Armando called in a suddenly loud voice as he stood behind Mikey, and Mikey involuntarily flinched, "Is that the one Aniese got for you? That freak from the hospital?" Mikey didn't speak. He situated his coat and somehow found the strength to start for the door, his lips nearly trembling. It was taking his whole will power to not scream at Armando, but Mikey knew even if he didn't have the will power, he wouldn't say a word. After taking two steps, a firm, strong hand clamped down on his right shoulder and spun him around.

"Say you love me," Armando demanded, forcing the smaller man to look him in the eyes.Despite the fact that violent outbursts like this were not uncommon, Mikey was terrified. They always scared him. Aniese would always tell him afterwards that Armando didn't mean it, that he'd never hurt Mikey. Mikey wasn't so sure. He tried to pull away, whimpering softly and turning his head away. Armando didn't like that. He pushed Mikey against the wall, both hands on the painter's shoulders. Mikey was absolutely terrified. "Say you love me, slut," Armando demanded again, his face moving very, very close to Mikey's. Mikey could smell the salt on his breath, but he couldn't remember seeing Armando eat anything salty.

Mikey wanted to get away and rush home. He wanted to sink into his bed and sob. He wanted to escape, and there was only one way that would happen. With his head pointed away, glasses nearly slipping off nose, Mikey spurted one, uncertain, terrified sentence.

"I-I l-love you."

Before Mikey could react to anything, Armando moved forward quickly, smashing his lips wetly against Mikey's very sloppily, smashing him against the wall, his nails dug into Mikey's neck and shoulders. Mikey didn't even kiss back. He whimpered and pushed Armando away. Slobber strung between their lips as the two stared at each other, tears in Mikey's eyes. Inside of Armando's eyes, Mikey could see a deep and unyielding sadness. He could see age. Sometimes, Mikey knew, people's eyes aged before their faces and bodies. Mikey stood frozen for a second, released from Armando, his heart pounding, before he sprinted out of the door.

Mikey let the tears run down his face the entire way home, sniffling softly every so often as his body shook. He was completely spooked out, just as he always was after an "accident," and he couldn't stop rubbing his burning lips. He wanted out of this relationship so badly. His phone was buzzing, but Mikey didn't even hear it. It wasn't until he could see his driveway that he realized who had been calling him.

There was a black Mercedes sitting in the driveway, waiting on the return of the painter.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," Mikey muttered when he saw the car. One arm moved towards his eyes, pulling away his glasses and wiping away at the tears. They NEEDED to be gone before he got to Frank. Frank could not see that he had been crying. His lips wouldn't stop shaking as he drove in the driveway and prayed that the shine from his glasses would hide his red eyes.

When Mikey stopped his car, Frank immediately exited as well, crossing the front of the car and taking his dog from the passenger side. Mikey took a few deep breaths and then left as well, standing in the snow as he watched Frank approach. He was wearing what he had been yesterday, scarf and sunglasses and all. He smirked the moment he saw Mikey.

"I tried to call you several times," He said in a very calm and cool voice, the corners of his lips turned upwards, "I was afraid I had missed you."

"Oh... Yeah..." Mikey said in a very disinterested tone, and he passed by Frank towards his home. He was still shaking terribly. The memory of being pushed against the wall was on repeat like a terrible broken record. He felt like throwing up.

"We are painting today, are we not?" Frank questioned softly, his eyebrows raised above his sunglasses as he followed Mikey, nearly at his elbow. Mikey only nodded his head and neither one said a word until they were safe down in the basement. Alabaster bounded past him back into the corner where he has napped the day before, and Mikey nearly tripped over him. Mikey still wasn't at ease, his heart pounding like it had only happened a minute ago, and he felt like his brain was running fifty miles per hour. He could feel Frank's eyes on him. "Mikey," Frank said in a soft voice, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mikey answered quickly, and he turned his head towards Frank, meeting the red eyes nobly. To anybody who didn't really know Mikey, they may believe him. Frank didn't though. With those wicked eyes, he could stare right into Mikey's soul it seemed like. He held Mikey's eyes for a while before he pointedly turned away, back to Mikey, and removed his clothing.

Mikey couldn't take his eyes away. He watched with a slightly ashamed eye as Frank very slowly and very seductively peeled away his vest, tie, and shirt. Mikey watched as Frank ran his hands slowly along his hips, almost like a tease, and he unbuttoned his pants. His heart raced just the slightest as they fell to the floor along with Frank's underwear. Mikey watched as Frank's bottom was revealed into the light of the basement. Firm, round, and somehow perky. Finally, he could find the strength to look away, but he felt close to dying. Had that honestly happened? Had that just happened? Mikey could feel his back against the basement wall, his heart like a rabbit inside his chest, palms pressed to the linoleum. Despite being so shaken up, Mikey was incredibly aroused. Frank's body was... Absolutely perfect. A part of him wanted Frank to turn, walk towards him, and fuck him mercilessly against the wall.

Mikey was really quite kinky inside his own mind. His awkwardness provided a shell for his real subconscious that was anything but awkward. Mikey hid his longings of lust behind that, pretending that they didn't exist at all, and, for the most part, it worked. Armando, to be honest, just wasn't pleasing him, but Mikey never said a word. He wouldn't dare to. Armando already damaged him enough during sex, and not in a sexual way. It was just in Armando's spirit to destroy everything.

"Mikey?" A soft voice called. Mikey raised his eyes to see frank already reclining on the couch, one leg propped up and leaning his head on one arm. He smirked when Mikey noticed him, and held out his free hand, beckoning for the painter, "I do believe I am ready."

Mikey couldn't hardly breath, and his face turned red. It was almost like Frank had just caught him doing something embarrassing. At least Frank couldn't read his thoughts. Mikey nodded once, his lips shaking, as he approached. Mikey realized with about half a heart that if he hadn't been brutalized earlier, he might actually enjoy this more. But, he really just didn't.

As his calloused, rough hands wandered over the silent man, Mikey realized he was simply just touching Frank. In all honesty, the position Frank had been in was nearly perfect enough. Mikey ran his palms down Frank's arms, like he was studying a piece of art. That's all Frank was to Mikey. Some sort of artwork that was too beautiful, too perfect to be real. Minutes passed by where all Mikey accomplished was moving Frank's arm back and forth, or grazing his fingers along the man's thigh. In the back of his mind, his brain was somehow elsewhere, replaying again and again, was the images from earlier. Slamming against the wall. The name he was called. The sloppy kiss. The skin to skin contact with Frank was a nice band aid, but it couldn't fix his shaking. Mikey finally deemed the needless touching more than enough, his stomach swelling with disgust as he moved away to the easel and fresh canvas.

He mixed the paint just like he had done yesterday, but he stopped. The memory was so fresh. The terror he and felt when Armando laid his hands on him. Mikey was sick. He couldn't do it. He could not find the strength to raise his hand and move the brush, or to wipe the tear from his check, or the sweat from his forehead. He could only stare at the blank canvas like it possess secrets and omens. It didn't. It would have been a perfect day to paint, but Mikey's brain told him no.

"Mikey? You haven't moved in thirty minutes," Frank said very quietly, the only part of him moving was his jaw. Mikey blinked back to reality and glance towards the stony creature on the couch, finding that his blank haze was replaced with a concerned frown, "I can come back later... You look very tired."

Mikey knew there was no use arguing with him. Frank was right. Mikey was absolutely exhausted. He looked once more between the blank canvas and the wasted paint. "Yeah," Mikey said, laying it down on the tiny table beside him. He wiped his sweating hands on his shirt, "I'm... I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright," Frank offered sympathetically. Mikey glanced towards him to find that he was still naked on the couch. Mikey really did like that position. It highlighted Frank's amazingly muscular calve muscles. Without thinking, Mikey pulled out his phone, but he suddenly felt extremely creepy.

"I just want to remember this position, okay?" Mikey said, eyebrows raised over his horn-rimmed glasses. "Would that be okay?" No matter what Frank would say, he still felt extremely creepy.

Frank laughed softly, head leaned back as if he thought that was the most entertaining thing he had heard in his life. The very pale man returned his gaze to Mikey, and his lip curled up in a smirk, "Be my guest, Darling." 

Mikey bit his lip and snapped the picture, gazing at it for one more moment on his phone. Mikey wondered if Frank thought Mikey would masturbate to it later. He wondered if that's why Frank let him do it. When he raised his head, Frank was dressing again, tie already around his neck. "I... I'm so sorry," He said again to Frank, filling the air with his unsteady voice. Frank turned towards him, eyebrow peaked in interest, "I wasted your time."

Frank smirked at this tightening his tie to his neck. "That's not true," Frank said quietly, tilting his head playfully, "Any moment with you is not a waste." With that, Frank turned away, walking towards where his dog had been silent the entire time, Mikey had completely forgotten it was there. That dog was the most well-mannered animal Mikey had ever met. Frank snapped his fingers as he went by, and the dog leaped to its feet and hurried up the spiral stairs. When Frank was at the bottom of the stairs, he stopped with the tiniest smirk and turned over his shoulder back towards the man standing by the couch. "You know, Mikey," Frank said, his voice slow and seductive, one hand pressed over the railing of the stairs, "I'm never too far away."

With that, Frank Iero winked towards Mikey before he turned up the stairs, leaving Mikey alone in his basement, shivering.


	4. The First Mistake

The moon was full the following night as Mikey lay in Armando's bed, the sheets wrapped around his naked body. He watched the full circle orb of light beaming in through the window, and it reflected off of his perfect skin. There wasn't a sound in the room besides the two men breathing. Mikey had returned to Armando the next day, feeling extreme remorse for having such thoughts about his muse. When he had entered the apartment, Mikey was immediately pounced on, and his clothes were removed. Armando had drooled a sloppy, insincere apology in his ear, mixed with slightly intoxicated kisses and bites. Mikey couldn't not give in, especially after what he had seen of the muse. He knew what Armando wanted, and Mikey spent the entire day giving that to him on the couch, table, and bed. The frantic, wet humping, shrieking, animalistic groans from his partner, and Armando forcing himself harder into Mikey for an uncomfortable amount of time because it took him forever to come. Most of the time, Mikey didn't even come on his own and Armando would give a shallow blowjob with a copious amount of slobber. It was either that or Mikey would fake it. That was usually when Mikey was on his stomach, and he could fake an orgasm into the blankets just so the painful, non-pleasurable pounding would cease. 

Mikey deeply ached. His entire ass felt like it had been ripped apart, especially the last time on the bed. Armando had sat Mikey on his lap and insisted the painter ride him. Mikey couldn't seem to figure it out, mostly because he was exhausted, so Armando flopped him back down and absolutely lost all holds on his own personal control. For five minutes, he ripped into the painter who was basically begging the man to stop, but he didn't. After it was over, Armando had collapsed on the bed and passed out. Mikey, in a massive amount of pain, laid on the bed and stared outside for what felt like hours, feeling invaded and uncomfortable.

He really, really, really hated intimacy with Armando. Summoning all of the strength he had, Mikey sat up slowly on the edge of the bed, his whole body trembling. He braced either hand beside each side of him and lowered his head. A ball of unhappiness was wrapped around his heart, and it seemed to strangle him. All the man could think of was how seriously depressed he was just by being here. Armando's presence seemed to have that effect on him.

Mikey hadn't even ever been attracted to Armando. Not that he could remember, anyway. He raised his head, staring out the window at the moon. It still glowed like a distant beacon of hope. Mikey didn't actually have any hope at all. All that Mikey knew was that one day he would die a pathetic man who let his life be controlled by his best friend and his worst enemy. Mikey found his jeans and boxers on the floor with his toes and slowly slid them up to his aching body. He felt like he was going to throw up, but, admittedly, he always felt like that.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed his shirt was between Armando's arms, clenched tightly, his face deep inside the fabric. Mikey almost felt bad for him as he watched the man breath into the fabric, his body limp in sleep. But only almost. The pity lasted only a moment before Mikey scowled. He almost considered just leaving the shirt. It didn't really matter to him.

But, Mikey knew he would be cold. The heater in his car wasn't extraordinary, and he knew that it would be a terrible ride home with just his coat. Mikey reached forward, and, in one very quick movement, snatched the t-shirt away, sliding it back on quickly and hurrying towards the door. There was a sharp intake of breath from the mass on the bed. He knew he had woken up Armando, and he wanted to leave before the man could grab him again. His hand was pressed against the door when a groggy, half-awake voice snapped him back to reality.

"Why're you leavin'?" Armando mumbled as he sat up.

Mikey's heart began to pound. "I want to go home," He said in a very shaky and uncertain tone. Armando apparently didn't like that. He rose his lumbering body from the bed, and, much to Mikey's dissent, stumbled over to him.

"Why don't you love me anymore, Mikey?" He mumbled in a very low voice as he got closer and closer. Mikey was scared. He whimpered, his hand migrating to the doorknob. He desperately tried to turn the handle and pull open the door, but there was a loud, jarring sound of the door snapping shut as Armando slammed his hand against the door. There was no way he could get out now. Mikey kept his back to Armando, completely rigid, eyes turned towards the ground.

"I saw the pictures on your phone!" Armando suddenly yelled, and before Mikey could react, he clamped his hands down on Mikey's shoulders and turned him around, pressing the man against the door, "Who was that guy, and why was he naked!?"

Frank. He had seen the picture of Frank.

Mikey tried to rip away, his heart panicking. Armando had gone through his phone at some point during the day like a dirty rat. Mikey probably even knew when it had been. The ten minutes he had left for the bathroom, and his phone had been on the table. "L-Let me go!" Mikey gasped, trying to wiggle away, but finding the act useless. Armando was much stronger than him. He wasn't getting away, and that absolutely terrified him. Armando's grip only tightened on his shoulders, pressing Mikey harder against the door, and his head bashed against it. Mikey cried out, wincing as fresh, harsh pain spurted through his head. "A-Armando!" He gasped, raising his voice.

"I can give you that," Armando whispered in an incredibly low and husky voice, and his chapped and dry lips ran along Mikey's neck to his ear. Mikey felt sick, his eyes clenched closed and heart pounding like a bass drum. "I would... You know I would," There was a pause as his lips met Mikey's ear, and the smaller man gasped, not in excitement, but in fear, "I can right now."

"N-NO!" Mikey cried, attempting to pull away. He struggled against Armando, but he was much, much stronger. At once, Armando grabbed Mikey's face and slammed his lips against Mikey's. There was a franticness in the way Armando kissed the man he thought to be his beloved boyfriend, a shaking and twitching and harshness in his lips that Mikey was all too familiar with. Mikey could feel Armando's crotch, a hard erection against the painter's thigh. When Armando wanted something, he would always get it.

This was one of those times.

Armando began to pull, literally pull, Mikey with all his force towards the bed, nails digging into Mikey's bare wrists. He was muttering something about love or making love, but Mikey couldn't hear anything besides his denials and his heart pounding in his ears. Mikey tried to rip away, but ten nails dragged down his wrist, and Armando turned back towards him, grabbing the smaller male around his chest, and, without warning, he threw Mikey onto the bed. Mikey laid there for a second, in shock and pain as Armando crawled over him. Armando at once began to hurriedly remove Mikey's pants. Mikey folded his legs, crying out desperately. He was still in insane amount of pain from the time earlier, and Mikey knew he physically could not be bottom again, especially if Armando planned to be rough.

"Armando, please!" He begged, stiffening his legs and twisting his body away. Armando grunted, tightening his grip around Mikey's chest and shoulders.

"You're being bad," Armando growled. A line of moonlight ran across Armando's face, and Mikey could see the outline of a wicked grin, "I should do something about that."

Mikey let out a wicked gasp of terror, straining his voice, and he managed to turn on his stomach. This was incredibly pointless and actually made it easier for Armando who stripped his underwear from his body. "ARMANDO!" He finally screamed, clutching the bed sheets. Armando was not being gentle at all. Nails were in his back for no reason at all. Mikey was scared. He screamed again, bracing himself for pain and burying his face in the pillow when the sound of a door flying open and bashing against the wall, which resulted in Armando instantly stopping and loosening his grip.

"Armando? ARMANDO!" 

The shrill, agitated voice of Aniese filled the room, and instantly, Armando was off of Mikey's back. Mikey collapsed onto his stomach, pulling his underpants and jeans back up his body, breathing heavily as the sounds of scolding filled the room. He only caught bits of it as he gathered his composure, rising back to his feet, entire body trembling tremendously as he swallowed the massive ball of humiliation in his throat.

"-Be more gentle! -Let go of- Hurting him! -STOP SOBBING!-"

Mikey wasn't even aware she was in the room. He slipped back onto the bed, shaking on the covers for a second as Armando's crying filled the room. Mikey didn't understand why he was crying. He had no right to cry. Mikey should be the one crying, but he found no tears. Taking a few short and deep breaths, Mikey stood, and he walked towards the door, passing by Aniese onto the loft. He was halfway down the metal stairs when the shrill voice caught him again.

"Mikey!" She gasped, standing at the top of the stairs. Mikey didn't stop. He continued down the stairs, walking towards the couch, his hands clenched. "Mikey, please!" She cried, staying on the top of the stairs as Armando's loud sobbing filled the room. Aniese sounded so desperate, so upset and sincere. Mikey knew he should have just kept walking, gone home, and never spoke to either of them again, but he didn't. He turned, pretending to have the least bit of composure as he raised an eyebrow.

"What?" He muttered rigidly, managing to hide the shame and terror behind his voice.

Aniese let out a loud puff of air and descended off the stairs, hurrying towards her old friend with tired and worried eyes. "Mikey, he... he didn't mean it... You know how he is," Aniese whispered when she was close enough. She was hard to hear because of the loud sobbing. Upon these words, Mikey turned away wordlessly, picking his phone and coat from the couch. "Mikey," She begged, holding her hand out and grasping his arm softly, "He needs you."

"I need some space," Mikey retorted, swinging on his coat and walking towards the door. He could feel a ball of sadness in his throat, and he only wished to escape this godforsaken home even though he would only go home and crawl into his bed and sob for hours on end. Maybe attempt to wash the blood out of his pants. He wasn't sure.

"You're the only one Armando has EVER loved," She said in a hushed and desperate voice. Mikey could feel her approach again, her hand fell upon his shoulder, and he stopped walking, tensed and scared. "He talks about you all the time, Mikey. How beautiful and special you are. How smart and creative. He misses you EVERY SECOND you're gone, Mikey. He talks about how much he loves you, how he wants to marry you, and how he's so scared he's going to scare you away," Her hand tightened, and her voice turned to a hiss, "You're what keeps my brother alive. You're the most important thing in his life. Did you know he once said that he'd kill himself for you?"

Mikey didn't respond.

"Well, he did," She continued harshly, "And he'd do it anyway if he ever lost you."

That was enough. Mikey pulled himself away from the guilt trip, ripping out of Aniese's grip and hurrying out the door. Still, he felt no tears glistening down his cheeks as he ran down flights of stairs to his car. Mikey wanted to cry, but for some reason, he just couldn't. Mikey navigated through the falling snow to his car, flakes falling into his hair, shame radiating from every inch of his body. He realized as he neared his car that he'd left his scarf on the couch, but it was gone now. Mikey finally reached his black car, pulling open the door and darting inside.

The second he was safe inside, he let out a cry, a swollen, aching, and pained cry that nearly shook the car. It strained his vocal cords, and he pressed his hands over his eyes as millions and millions of thoughts ran through his head. What if Aniese hadn't been there? He didn't doubt that Armando would have gone again against Mikey's consent. He knew what would have happened, and it would have broke him.

He was extremely thankful that it had not happened.

It was at that moment that Mikey remembered the cause of the whole ordeal in the first place. He pulled his phone from his coat pocket, and he was incredibly thankful that it hadn't fallen from his pocket into a snow drift. He flipped it open and found it, sure enough, where Armando had left it. The picture of naked Frank was burned onto the screen. Mikey moved his finger over the button that would erase it completely, but he found his eyes stuck to the picture. He wasn't sure how long he stared at it, how many minutes where there were no sounds and the only thing that moved was the snowflakes. He stared at Frank, biting his lip. He could delete it. He could.

But, he did not.

Mikey sighed loudly, and he flipped his phone closed. He wasn't going to delete it. Mikey let his eyes drift out the front windshield. The snow would have been calming if that wasn't all he saw anymore. Mikey was sick of Midnight Falls. He was sick of the snow and the cold and the people. He was so sick of being sad and lonely. In all the time he had lived here, he still only had the same two friends he had back when he was but a stupid college boy, blinded by sexual frustration and late nights with his best friend.

However, right now, Mikey realized he didn't actually have any friends besides Aniese, and he was incredibly mad at her. In fact, the idea of talking to her any time in the near future seemed incredibly unlikely. But... Mikey desperately did not wish to be alone. Not tonight. For a moment earlier, he had thought about how badly he wished to be alone, but now, the thought of being alone in his mansion seemed unrealistically scary. Mikey did not wish to think about what may happen to him if he even spent one second alone on this night.

It was at that second that Mikey made the most important decision of his life. He opened his phone and scrolled through the few contacts. Aniese... Armando... A pizza place in Midnight Falls... The police station... And Frank. He stopped there, pausing for a moment as he considered his next move. It would be strange to call Frank, and Mikey knew Frank may not even be awake. He bit his lip. They were only a business relationship... Nothing more... Nothing less. That was all. That was what he had told Armando, and now-

Mikey pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. Two buzzes sounded in his ear. Mikey was fully prepared to drive home and cry himself to sleep when a calm, cool voice filled his right ear.

"Why, if it isn't my painter. This is a very late hour," He cooed in a soft voice, "Is something the matter?" Despite the fact Frank was always very calm, there was a sense of concern in his voice. Mikey didn't want him to know what had happened. That was the very, very last thing he wanted was for somebody to be worried about him.

Mikey bit his lip, and the reality of what he had done set in. "N-No," Mikey stumbled shyly, his eyes staring blankly out the front windshield. He could imagine Frank laying on some soft, red couch somewhere, in a bathrobe, or laying on a black bed, his dog curled by his feet. The thought nearly made Mikey moan, but he wasn't sure why. No. He didn't feel that way. Mikey closed his eyes, composing himself, "I... I just wanted somebody to talk to... I'm... I'm lonely." He wasn't sure why he said that, and Mikey immediately wished to take that back.

"Are you now?" He said, and Mikey unwillingly imagined him trailing a pale hand over his thigh like a little tease, "I'm free right now."

Mikey's heart began to race. A part of him was conflicted, and he really wanted to crawl into bed, but... Mikey really did not want to be alone. That would only mean sinking further into his hole of depression. Mikey knew he wouldn't last the year if such a thing happened. Mikey wiped at his dry eyes with his free hand. "Can we meet at the diner?" He asked quietly, hoping his voice didn't ache with pure desperation, "Please?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes," The calm and cool voice whispered, and Mikey could nearly hear the smirk in his voice. Before Mikey could respond, the line went dead, and Mikey was staring blankly out the window. He closed his phone and let it drop from his hand into the seat. His lips trembled softly, but he did not cry. 

For the first time in as many nights as Mikey could remember, he would not be alone. His eyes drifted towards the clock on the console, and he noticed that the time glowing was "3:31 AM". Mikey did not even wonder what Frank could be doing awake at such an hour. Perhaps if his mind was stable, he would have, but he did not.

Mikey's right hand moved towards the key to his car, and the delightful roar of a scratchy ignition filled the air. Mikey, in reflection, would wish that he had given this a thought and allowed his brain to think, just for a moment, what he did wrong here. But that night, as Mikey pulled out of the apartment lot and started down the empty streets, his headlights reflecting off flakes like Christmas lights, Mikey had not a thought in his head. It was empty, only a dull buzz of faint hollowness. 

In his time with Armando, Mikey had perfected the art of turning off his emotions. After some point, it became harder for Mikey to turn them back on, but... He was okay with being a shell. Mikey had lost a lot of emotions along the way, or at least, seemingly dulled them to the point of nothing. Armando had a way of slowly killing him. Slowly. Mikey sighed softly, and he found himself at the stop sign near the diner. He did not really wish to see Frank, but, oh, he did not wish to be alone. Something about seeing Frank here made him nervous. He passed that along as... Anxiety because Frank was a stranger. As Mikey turned the corner to the diner to see that Frank was already there, he clenched his hands tighter around the wheel and a sick sense of dread filled his stomach, and the man had no idea why.


	5. The Glass

Mikey stopped his car, watching as fog lifted off the headlights as he put it in park and removed the keys. He was thankful the diner was even open at this late hour, which seemed really odd for how small the town was. Mikey rubbed his eyes, shoving his keys in his pocket and pulling his coat on. He wasn't tired at all though, thankfully. At least not conventionally tired like he wanted to sleep. He'd rather die. Mikey waited for a second in the car, looking towards his hands on his legs, almost like he was waiting for a cue. Mikey bit his lip, his mind going back to the image of Frank that was burned into his mind, but... No. Mikey really needed to stop.

He stepped out of the car, locked it, and went towards the restaurant, puffs of steam from his nose rounding around his head like ghosts. He had given up smoking when he started dating Armando. It had been Aniese's request because of her brother's asthma. Mikey really, really missed his cigarettes, but... He hadn't had a single one since the day he was asked. Perhaps that was symbolic of how much he had let Armando or Aniese change him. He practically wasn't even the same person that he had been before them. He had changed his hair, the way he dressed, and even removed a few lip and ear piercings for Armando. Mikey, to that second, had absolutely no idea why he'd allowed himself to turn into somebody he didn't even know.

Mikey stepped into the diner, and, much to his relief, it was very warm. He blinked in the sudden amount of light to find the diner empty except for a waitress standing next to a table, looking rather bored, and Frank, who was at a table in the far corner. His signature sunglasses, gloves, and long coat protected him, just as always, but Mikey did not understand why he was wearing sunglasses. It was the dead of night. Mikey also noticed that his dog was missing. That was unusual. Every single time previously, Frank had always had his dog.

Mikey's heart began to pound. His hands were trembling like mad as he moved across the diner towards Frank. Something about this man made Mikey just want to burst into tears. He was intimidating, yes, with his utter beauty, but perhaps that wasn't it. Mikey couldn't place it. He sat down across from Frank, folding his hands under his arms nervously.

"Oh!" Frank greeted suddenly, darting his head upwards the moment Mikey had sat down, "I had not seen you here, Mikey." Mikey only replied with a shy, small smile, averting his eyes to the table. The waitress who had been hovering across the room approach, and Mikey ordered a water and nothing else, which received a dirty look from the waitress. When the red-headed woman turned towards Frank, Frank simply shook his head, a small smirk on his face. When the waitress walked away, Frank turned back towards Mikey, his head tilted. "I'm surprised you're up at such a late hour, my friend," Frank said softly, his head tilted, "I thought I was the only night owl in this town."

"Yeah," Mikey replied simply, looking down at his pale fingers on the table, gripping the edge like his life depended on it. He was up late most every night, contemplating life and the fact that his was so empty. Mikey rubbed his chest, shrugging his shoulders, "Yeah." He wasn't quite sure why he said that again. He just felt like he should say something.

This seemed to confuse Frank. He turned his head like he usually did when listening to Mikey. It was a slow and deliberate movement, but if it was seduction, it wasn't working very well because his eyes were covered. "Are you quite happy, Mikey?" He asked in a quiet and low voice.

At that second, the ice water landed in front of Mikey. He took it without words, looking down into the clear, cool liquid as he thought it over, rubbing his hands over the cold, dripping glass. Why had he asked that? The question made him uncomfortable, and the honest answer would make Frank uncomfortable. Mikey nodded his head vacantly. "Y-Yeah," He responded emptily, "I mean, I guess."

"That doesn't sound sincere," Frank noted, his voice seemingly very interested in Mikey's affairs, "Are... Are you quite well, Mikey?" Mikey's heart began to race again. This annoyed him because he had just got it calmed down. Mikey kept his eyes on the mug, considering his answer when Frank's soft voice interrupted his thoughts again, "You... Seem very out of it."

Mikey decided there was no use lying. "I'm just... I'm just having relationship problems," Mikey muttered, shrugging it off like he hadn't been almost raped an hour earlier, like it wasn't at all a big deal. It was a very big deal, and the way that Mikey could pull that off was incredibly disturbing to himself. The fact that he could bitter his own feelings was fine, but something like this was way too serious. Mikey's hands were shaking with guilt, and he took a quick drink of his water to hide it.

"Really? I was not aware that you were in a relationship," This seemed to make Frank's permanent smirk grow even wider. Mikey wasn't at all sure what was so amusing about himself having a significant other, and he found it quite offensive. Why was that so unbelievable? "Who is this lucky man?" He asked, his voice lowering to a sultry, slow tone.

Mikey's eyebrows suddenly shot up, "I never told you I was dating a guy." He had never even gave that impression. Or... He thought. Did he just radiate gay? Was it that obvious? Could he read Mikey's thoughts about wanting to fuck him so badly? Even the thought of that made Mikey's cheeks turn crimson as if it wasn't already obvious enough.

"You didn't need to," He said, unfazed as he watched the man across from him behind his dark glasses, "It's okay, honey. I am too."

This nearly knocked Mikey off of his booth. Any other night, his entire body would have woken up at just those words, excitement would flow his veins, and nasty thoughts of the man across from him would rush to every inch of his body like a filthy, dirty virus that would consume him like a delicious plague. But not tonight. Tonight, Mikey was utterly depressed, and the words didn't even cause him to do more than lift his eyebrows and sip his water. It was silent for a moment as Frank watched him and then cleared his throat.

"I am curious about your... Boyfriend..." Frank hummed with a soft curiosity buzzing off his lips, "Tell me about him."

Mikey didn't particularly want to talk about Armando right now. The thoughts of being pinned to the bed were too fresh. Gathering his words, Mikey shrugged his shoulders. "His name... Is... Is Armando," Mikey mumbled, twirling his finger along the icy drink, "He's.... God, I don't know. He's just a guy, okay? A guy who's way too smart and stupid at the same time." Mikey didn't want to continue, so he simply stared at the glass.

"Armando... Armando Mara?" Frank questioned curiously. When Mikey nodded his head, he let out a short gasp of connection. "Yes, yes. Aniese's brother. I have seen him about Midnight Falls. Rather... Loud... And strange. I have never spoke to him," He said seemingly to himself. When Mikey didn't say anything, Frank continued, filling the air desperately, "What... If you don't mind me asking... Was the fight about?"

Mikey could feel his face turning red again. Why was he asking this? Mikey simply shook his head, but... He decided he owed Frank the honest truth. He didn't know why he thought he did, but he needed to. Maybe Frank would understand. "Armando saw the picture of you on my phone," Mikey began, brushing back his blonde hair nervously, "The... The naked one. He thought I was cheating on him with... You."

Frank's mouth slowly opened, and Mikey could immediately tell he felt badly about what had happened. "Oh, Mikey," He said slowly and softly, "I am so incredibly sorry about that. I never wished that you would get in trouble. Oh, I am so incredibly sorry."

Mikey shook his head quickly. He didn't want Frank to apologize. Frank had done absolutely nothing wrong. "No, no. It's okay. He shouldn't have been going through my phone," Mikey replied quickly, finally looking back up towards Frank. He really wanted to stop talking about Armando now. He didn't want to come here just to talk about his boyfriend. He had come here to escape from his boyfriend.

"I'm still curious though," Frank said softly, holding open his hand, eyebrows raised, "Armando... Do not take this the wrong way, but... Is there... Something wrong with him? I'm asking from a doctor's perspective."

"He's mildly autistic," Mikey stated blankly. He really wanted to turn the conversation away from Armando right now.

"Ah. I would have never been able to tell if you had not told me. It seems like Aniese deeply cares about him. How does he treat you, Mikey?" Frank asked again, but Mikey was done. Honestly, the man just wanted to stand up and walk away. He had enough of Armando. Whether it was babying him or pestering Mikey about him, everybody seemed to be talking about Mikey's boyfriend.

"Look," Mikey said stiffly, "I'm done talking about Armando, okay? I left the apartment so I could potentially not be surrounded by him." Mikey was surprised by the sound of his own voice. So strong and tough, like the roar of a tiger. An annoyed tiger who really doesn't want to talk about another man.

"Oh, of course," Frank said, but he didn't continue. Mikey took a few more sips of his water, but he hadn't barely drank any of it. He tried to fill the silence with the sound of soft slurping, but... It wasn't enough. This was awkward and utterly uncomfortable. Mikey wouldn't have shown up if he had known how terrible this was going to be. He would have gone home and cried himself to sleep. In fact, that sounded pretty good right now.

Mikey glanced at his watch a few minutes later to find it was nearly four AM. He decided he had enough of this terrible evening, and perhaps he could go home and manage an hour or two of sleep before he woke up tomorrow to commence in the rest of his upsetting life. "I'm going to go," Mikey mumbled, pulling his coat on tighter as he stood, "I guess I'll... See you later."

"Wait," Frank said quickly, "Do you wish to paint today?" Mikey noticed the excitement in his voice, like he was most definitely looking forward to being naked again. 

Mikey could only shake his head. "No," Mikey mumbled, folding his arms around his chest, "I'm sorry, Frank. I just feel terrible, and I need to take a day or two off." Or forever. Mikey was done. He was utterly and completely done.

Frank replied with an almost childish pout, his chin resting upon his intertwined hands like a complete failure at being seductive. "I wish I had met you earlier in the evening," He said in a sweet voice, "I could have taken you to my beloved home... You probably don't wish to now."

Mikey shook his head again, starting towards the door, "I don't. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Michael," The strange man said. There was a pause, and Mikey stood in the center of the floor. Michael. Nobody called him that. Nobody. Upon hearing this, Mikey turned, his eyebrows furrowed to see the place where Frank was sitting was empty. Something curious on the table caught his eyes however, and Mikey moved closer. He bent towards the once clear glass on the table to find that the clean water was a deep, dark red color.

It was blood.

Mikey's stomach turned, his eyes stuck to the glass, and, at once, he backed away and ran from the diner. It wasn't until he got to his car that he stopped running, clicking the lock closed, his heart pounding. Mikey rubbed his eyes. No... No... It was nearly four AM. He must have imagined it... There was no way the liquid in the glass could have been blood. That wasn't logical. No. Regardless, Mikey was terrified. He took a deep breath, started his car, and drove himself home in the light snow.

When he got home, Mikey went straight to his room and stripped to his boxers, crawling into the green bed and burying his face into the pillow as he ran over the day's events. As he laid there, mind running across the terrible, horrible day, Mikey made a mental note that he absolutely hated hanging out with Frank outside of the painting deal. Mikey rolled onto his back, staring at the top of the bed. Somewhere in the house, the heater kicked on, and Mikey was glad to welcome another noise besides his own heartbeat and breath. 

It was then that Mikey remembered the picture on his phone. The cause of every problem that had happened that evening. The reason he had gone to Frank in the first place. Mikey pulled his phone from the bedside table, laying on his stomach and holding the pillow to his chest. He clicked to the pictures to see, of course, Frank's naked body. There was something different between casual Frank and muse Frank. Muse Frank was the one that Mikey never wanted to leave. Muse Frank made Mikey want to take off his clothes too. No. that was wrong. Mikey clutched the pillow tighter, and he was glad the front half of his body was constrained in the mattress, slight erection pushing against the soft frame.

Mikey wanted to delete the picture. He wanted to so badly, but the man just could not. For whatever reason, Mikey physically could not move his finger and delete the picture. Mikey just stared at the picture with round, curious, and restrained eyes. He told himself he was in a relationship, and that staring at this man was wrong. He had a boyfriend that would most definitely put out at any given place, day or night. Why couldn't he look away?

That was enough. Mikey closed his phone shoving it onto the beside table, and he buried his face into the pillow. Emptiness. He was so incredibly empty and lonely. Mikey wondered why he even tried anymore. Why was he even here? He thought about the hundreds of nights he had laid in this bed and considered jumping from the roof or drinking the bleach under the sink. Nobody would even miss him.

Well... That wasn't true.

Armando would miss him, but Mikey also knew Armando would one day forget Mikey entirely. Probably the next time Aniese found a new boyfriend for her dear brother. Aniese would miss him, but Aniese only cared for her brother. Mikey sometimes wondered if Aniese only liked him because he was dating Armando. That was probably true. 

Mikey just wanted to sleep. He just. Wanted. To. Go. To. Sleep. Mikey was inches from crawling off into the void of a dark sleep when a buzz woke him up instantly from the bedside table. Groaning and groggy, Mikey blinked in the darkness and felt his way to the beside table where his phone was vibrating like mad. Frowning, Mikey flipped it open and the name "Armando Mara" blinked back at him.

No.

Mikey immediately closed his phone and shoved it back onto the table. That was the breaking point. That was the last straw that finally destroyed him. He had stayed strong the entire day. After all the hours and time he spent, faking moans and orgasms just to please a guy he didn't even care about. After being forced around like a slave and shoved into a bed he didn't belong in. After meeting up with a strange man who probably could have killed him if he wanted to. After all those terrible things, now this. 

Mikey rolled onto his stomach and burst into tears.


	6. The Third Time and The Second Mistake

The following day, Mikey didn't leave his home or speak to a single person. His phone rang off and on the entire day, but he didn't bother answering. He checked his voice mail once to see if the art collector he knew had called him back yet, but all that was there were the pitiful cries of a broken and confused man. Armando had left an enduring fourteen voice mails, all echoing painful sobs and cries. Most of them weren't even real words.

So, Mikey spent the entire day in his bed, fading in and out of sleep, laying on his stomach when he was awake and staring at the wood on the side of the bedside table, twirling his finger over the grain, humming a song he had long since forgotten the name of. Mikey wrapped himself in the blanket, rolling from one end of the bed to the other, becoming a little burrito of loneliness until the sun went down, and he fell asleep for the night.

The next evening, Mikey finally woke and decided that something different needed to happen, that if he allowed himself to lay there any longer, he would more than likely kill himself the next time he awoke. That was a thought that terrified Mikey, but every inch of his body knew it was true. After the sun went down, Mikey took a shower for the first time in several days. He sat at the bottom of the shower, hot water pouring down his back and burning slightly, steam rising above the shower. He rubbed at the scratch marks on his wrists and his hips and wondered how much of his skin cells were living under Armando's fingernails. After a while, Mikey abandoned the humid haven of solitude, wrapping a white towel around his waist when he noticed how the mirror was fogged over. He couldn't even see his own face in the mist.

Mikey rolled his index finger over it and scrawled one sentence on the mirror.

"PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!!"

He sighed, watching the sentence for a minute before he slid on his clothes, blow dried his hair, and decided it was time to paint. The bills were due very soon, and Mikey didn't have any money. So, much to his dissent, he called Frank. Frank was, to put it lightly, more than excited to come over. Mikey wasn't excited at all. He was nervous. All he kept thinking about was what Frank had said, how pressing he had been about Armando.

About an hour after that, the two were already in the basement, and Frank was naked and the dog was asleep in the corner. Frank was much more talkative as Mikey crouched in front of him, moving his arms above his head, running his hands ever so softly along Frank's pale and perfect arms. "I suppose I have never said this," Frank said in a low, yet playful tone, "But I absolutely love the gold chain from your ear to your nose."

Mikey's face turned pink, and every ounce of concentration he had was gone. The gold chain was something Armando always went out of his way to make fun of because Armando didn't like it, but whenever they were intimate, he made a big deal of pulling on it, which hurt Mikey more than anything. It wasn't a rope. Mikey moved his lips like he would say something, anything, but he didn't, and he only nodded his head, hands moving along Frank's arms delicately.

He repeatedly moved Frank's left arm back and forth, leaning over the man's naked body. He tried not to look at Frank's face because he knew what he would see. A small, wickedly attractive smirk that would absolutely eat him away. Mikey knew if he looked at Frank, he would sooner take his pants off just as Frank had done. He couldn't do that. No, he just couldn't do that. He had a boyfriend.

Mikey finally had to pull himself away, his hands slowly drawing off of Frank's pale and perfect skin. Frank had the most perfect skin of any human Mikey had ever seen. Mikey could feel his heart pounding as he pulled away and cleared his throat nervously, turning towards the easel and rolling up his sleeves. Just like the times before, Mikey mixed the paint again on his pallet, a ball of nervousness and anxiety settling in his chest. This was quickly dispelled when he could move his brush away from the pallet and begin painting.

It was strange. After everything that had happened, it took minimal effort for Mikey to submerse himself back into the world he created every time he began painting. It was like he could forget nearly every aspect of his life, vacantly turning away and existing inside a quiet and still, white canvas for a few hours. It was nice. Mikey had an incredibly difficult time holding his focus even though it was rather enjoyable. His eyes and mind especially kept wandering around the easel towards the man and his magnificent body. Painting his features in excruciating detail made him excited, and Mikey even though he did not need to, Mikey spent way longer than he probably should have simply staring at the man on the couch. Their session was only interrupted once by the sounds of a small ping and vibrations from Mikey's pocket, but Mikey paid no attention to his phone. He knew who it was.

After several hours, Mikey finally moved away from his easel. The painting was well done, and Mikey reflected it was probably the best that he had seen. Still, Mikey could not feel the will to smile. He wiped the paint from his hands on his jeans, and he turned his easel towards the man still laying on the sofa with his leg perched.

"It's done," He said simply, his eyes sparkling with the tiniest flame of contentment.

Frank seemed to wake himself from his stone-like state. He hadn't moved a muscle the entire time they had been painting, and Mikey found that very strange and almost not human. Or perhaps Frank was just incredibly disciplined. His dog hadn't even made a noise. Frank blinked back to reality, peeling himself off the couch, and he quickly slid on his clothes. Mikey's face turned bright red. He turned his face towards the floor, kicking his shoe against the floor. After several seconds, he lifted his head and saw Frank approaching the painting, a small smile on his lips.

"My, my," Frank said in a low voice, his head tilted as he straightened his red tie and folded it beneath his gray vest, "Your detail on my genitals is improving. Are you less shy now?"

Mikey felt like his heart was about to explode, and he looked back at the floor, suddenly incredibly embarrassed. The painting of Frank's member had been more strenuous than it should have been. Back in the day, Mikey could paint penises without even the slightest erection because he had been able to distinguish work and play. Now, he couldn't even glance towards Frank's without becoming totally erect. "N-No," Mikey muttered nervously. The truth was just what Frank had said though. Mikey was becoming more and more willing to look at Frank. That made him a little more nervous than it probably should.

"I was joking," He said softly, and then turned towards the spiral stairs leading towards the ground floor. "Is that all?" Frank asked, his hands on his waist. Mikey watched as he snapped his fingers and his husky rose, shaking dust off his white mane.

"It is," Mikey replied, watching as Frank stepped on the first step. The idea of being alone again made Mikey want to be ill. The thoughts that had invaded him earlier threatened to return. Dangerous things. Mikey desperately did not want to be alone. He was even willing to ask Frank to stay even though he hadn't liked being alone with Frank the first time. It didn't matter. Anything was better than being left in seclusion.

"C-Could you stay?" Mikey sputtered stupidly, and the words were said before he had even realized he had said them. Frank paused halfway up the stairs, his hand paused on the railing. Mikey felt like an idiot. His lips trembled, and he clenched his hands. 

"It is very late, Mikey," Frank replied, stepping back down the stairs. When he reached the landing, he turned back towards Mikey, a very small smirk on his pale face. The sheer sight of that made Mikey's heart begin to pound in his chest again.

"That shouldn't matter to a night owl like you," Mikey sputtered again. Was that flirting? He felt even more filthy, like all the soap in his mouth would never make him clean again. All the red in his cheeks couldn't hide how sick he felt the moment after he said that. Frank's smirk grew even wider. He stepped closer, head tilted mysteriously.

"If I wasn't any smarter, I would say you are in love with me," The man whispered in a very sultry tone as he stepped closer to Mikey, his lips pulled back, edges of sharp teeth exposed mere inches from Mikey's face. Mikey almost wanted to grab his face and kiss him then and there, but no. He did not. Mikey was not in love with him. Mikey was not in love with anybody at all. He wasn't even sure he believed in love.

"I'm not," Mikey spoke rigidly, his eyebrow twitching with condensed annoyance, "I have a boyfriend." This was true by title only. Mikey DID have a boyfriend, but not one that he loved.

Frank smirked softly, his head tilted as he replied one smooth, smart statement, "I know." A half second later, as if it just occurred to him, he folded his arms across his chest, lifting one eyebrow mischievously, "What did you have in mind?"

Mikey didn't have anything in mind. "I... I just didn't want to be alone," He admitted in a quiet and ashamed voice. This seemed to only amuse Frank as he stood before Mikey with a small smirk on his face.

"Is it hard to live in such a large home all alone?" Frank asked, and Mikey suddenly felt nervous. He wasn't sure why, but he found it very difficult to look at Frank for a moment, and his eyes darted towards the floor.

"It is," He responded, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. Frank only replied to this with his ever-present smirk, but he said not a word. The two hung in a web of awkward silence for a moment before Mikey cleared his throat. "The heating isn't good down here," Mikey said, walking towards the stairs, "Let's go sit at the table upstairs."

Frank followed Mikey up the stairs and into the dining room that hadn't been used in ages. Mikey had originally when he moved in ate at the table occasionally, but after some time, the sight of all the empty chairs and the sounds of only his fork running against the plate became very depressing. He had not used the table in several months, either eating take out fast food or something disgusting out of a box. He wasn't okay with that. Mikey sat down at one end of the table, sighing into the chair, and for whatever reason, Frank chose the other, his dog hopping into a seat beside him.

"Is it alright if he stays there?" Frank asked, looking between his dog and Mikey.

"Yeah, yeah," Mikey said, nodding his head. He slid back into his seat, a sigh escaping his lips, folding his arms around his chest. Mikey wasn't so sure he was okay with the dog sitting at the table like a human, but he wasn't about to make a scene. "Why do you take that dog everywhere?" Mikey asked, his brow furrowing curiously. He wasn't much for question asking, so the words felt strange on his lips.

"Ah," Frank began, nodding his head, "You are not the first to ask that. The reason I keep Alabaster with me at all times is because I'm deathly allergic to an allergen in the air. Alabaster can sense it, and he barks when he can smell it." Frank reached a seat over with a genuine smile, patting the dog's head, "He has saved my life on multiple occasions."

"Oh," Mikey mumbled. That was weird. "You didn't have him the night at the diner," Mikey recalled, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't bring him with me while I work," Frank said quickly, his hands tapping on the table almost impatiently, "They have sensors in the hospital, you know, that alarm me if something happens. It's quite a good system, and I do feel safe even without my guard dog there."

Something about that seemed really off to Mikey, but he couldn't explain what. There were holes in that story that Mikey couldn't place. Gaping, wide holes. If the dog was so important, shouldn't he have said no when asked to see Mikey? Unless Frank had been working late at the hospital, but even then... It didn't seem correct. "You're very young to be a doctor," Mikey noted, trying to expel the strange feeling from his stomach.

"Oh? You think so?" The man across from him said, the smirk on his face growing, "Oh, Mikey. Looks can be deceiving." That was why Mikey hated hanging out with Frank. Most of the time, he spoke in riddles or said something strange that made Mikey nervous, however, he reflected that most of what Frank said probably meant absolutely nothing. Maybe he was a freak like Armando had said.

Mikey suddenly wanted to get away. "I... I'm kinda hungry," He improvised, standing beside the chair quickly, jerking his thumb towards the kitchen, "Do you want a salad or something?" He only wished to be polite to his guest.

"Oh no," Frank said, his voice bubbling with a soft laugh. He stood too, and, much to Mikey's dissent, followed the painter into the kitchen. Mikey could hear him scoot out a bar stool in the kitchen by the island and sit down. Mikey took a package of lettuce and cabbage from the fridge and sat it on a cutting board, taking out a large and very sharp knife to begin cutting. "I'm very curious about you, Mikey," A voice said over his right shoulder as he lined up the knife with the bundles of vegetables, "How did you receive such a beautiful home?"

"My house?" Mikey questioned nervously, moving the knife along the board rather easily. "O-Oh... It was my grandparents' home when they were alive. I'm not sure why, but when they died, they left it in my name," He paused, watching the knife move along, "I guess they just wanted to make sure it wouldn't rot away."

"How very nice of them," He said calmly, almost like he was remarking on the weather or something of that sort. Mikey knew he wasn't done yet. That made him want to be ill. "Please, Mikey," Frank continued, his voice thick with sultry warmness, "Tell me about yourself. I'm ever so curious."

Mikey didn't want to, but he felt as though he didn't honestly have a choice. He took a hard gulp, pausing his knife and staring down at his shaking hands. "I... I'm not all that interesting," Mikey began softly, but he knew Frank would not let that pass, "I came from a pretty well off family, I guess. Never really worried about money or anything. I went to college for art. I mean, that was my major, I guess, and I paid my way through college on the money I made from my paintings." Images of naked sorority girls filled his head again. "I don't know what I expected the real world to be," He muttered, letting the knife move along blindly again, "But it's not what I thought it would be. I'm in debt. I can't pay my bills." And then, Mikey stopped suddenly. It was like he would continue, but he didn't. He just continued running the knife over the vegetables, lip trembling.

"Does that pretty much bring me up to now?" Frank asked, his calm voice drawing Mikey back to reality. Mikey nodded blindly, his eyes watching the knife, but seeing nothing. All he could think of was the extreme disappointment he had met since leaving school. So. So. So much disappointment. Mikey swallowed a hard ball in his throat when Frank spoke again, "Good. Because I was terribly afraid that-"

"SHIT! SHIT!"

Mikey suddenly ripped away from the cutting board, holding his left index finger and cursing like a sailor. Drips of dark, red blood were dripping from his finger into his trembling hands. Stinging pain was rocketing through his hands. Mikey couldn't get a grip on his cussing. Somewhere in the room, the dog began to bark and howl like mad. It wasn't a large cut, and it wasn't bleeding very much, but it did hurt a lot. Mikey raised his head, remembering Frank was a doctor, gasping in pain, "Frank! Christ! Do you think you... You could wrap this up for me?"

When he saw Frank, there was something incredibly disturbing. He has stood so quickly that the bar stool had clattered to the floor. Even though Mikey was standing several feet away, he could see that Frank's pupils in his red eyes were completely dilated. Frank was standing there with the most terrified stare on his face, wide, dilated eyes stuck on Mikey holding his hand. The dog was still freaking out, rushing into the room from the dining room and jumping against the solitary Frank, standing on his hind legs and pressing his paws against Frank's hip.

"Frank?" Mikey asked, watching Frank with a worried eye. Frank only shook his head, pressing two fingers over his trembling lips. "Frank... What's going on?" Mikey asked again, but Frank only shook his head, waving his hand.

"I... I must go," He muttered, and without another word, Frank turned, rushing towards the entryway, grabbing his dog by the leash. Less than a minute later, Mikey could hear the sounds of the door opening and a car leaving his driveway.

Mikey stood there, holding his finger for several minutes, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figured out what exactly had just happened. And then, he turned, walking up the stairs to his bathroom to patch up his finger on his own. Mikey couldn't quite process how odd that had been. What had caused Frank's behavior to change so quickly. As he wrapped his finger in gauze, Mikey played with, for just a moment, the idea of the supernatural, but, being the intellectual man he is, he quickly dismissed that.

With that thought, Mikey raised his eyes looking into the mirror, and he could see the ghost of the sentence he had wrote hours earlier. 

"No," Mikey muttered to his reflection, eyebrow creased just the slightest bit, "No... That's stupid."

He sighed, ripping the gauze apart and taping it to his finger. His dog had started panicking... Perhaps it was something in the air like Frank had said he was allergic to. Yes, that was it. It was an allergen. Not the supernatural. Frank was just... Strange... That was all. He wasn't special. He was just... Strange.


	7. The Hospital

Three days later, the snow had finally ceased and had melted away. The sun arose, heating the earth back up as much as it could since it was winter. It wasn't warm, but it also wasn't frigid anymore. The river that was frozen solid only a few days prior finally thawed back to its' raging glory. White caps ran over rocks, and the sounds of rushing water could be heard even up on the bridge inside a car. However, Mikey wasn't there. 

The painter had decided he would take advantage of the nice weather and visit the park. This may have been considered out of character for the reclusive artist, but Mikey felt like he was going to suffocate in his home. So, Mikey strolled through the park casually, feeling light and even as close as the man could get to being happy. In the past three days after the incident with his finger, Mikey had gotten a call from the art collector he knew. The art collector had been interested in buying from Mikey again since he had back in his college days. He had paid Mikey a visit the following day and bought Mikey's painting of Frank nearly as soon as he saw it. A part of Mikey wondered if he only bought it because of how Frank's beauty had radiated from the painting. Anybody would be proud to display such an attractive painting in their home.

It was nice in the park. Mikey sat down on the edge of the large fountain. He wasn't sure why, but that just seemed like a good place to sit. The sun felt soothing on his very pale skin, and he turned his face upright to embrace it for a moment. It had been three days since his last contact with Frank or Armando. Armando had been trying to call him, but Mikey knew better and his phone had been off the entire time. He shuddered to think of what sort of voice-mails Armando had left for him when he finally decided to turn it back on.

However, it HAD been several days since the last time he had seen his boyfriend. He pitied Armando, and most of all, Mikey's sexual frustration was threatening to kill him. Sometimes, late at night, Mikey would open the picture of Frank on his phone, which he had yet to delete. His hand would run over his cock, and he would pleasure himself to the picture of the naked doctor burned into his cellphone screen. It wasn't the same, but it was better than nothing.

Mikey was enjoying the solitude as he sat on the fountain, book open on his leg, fingers grazing along the pages. Mikey loved to read, but he rarely could find the will to anymore. Most of the time he had was spent wallowing in his own unhappiness. Now, he felt good, and now he had one of his favorite books, A Clockwork Orange. He could remember the first time he read this book when he was junior in high school. The sheer villainy of the main character in the book had absolutely appalled him when he was younger, and half of the young man had found it hard to believe that somebody that evil could even exist in the world.

But as he grew older, Mikey began to comprehend that the world wasn't as fluffy as he had expected.

He hadn't been there for long when soft footsteps were approaching. Mikey could only think of three possibilities of who it could be. Armando, Aniese, or Frank, and to be quite honest, he didn't want to see a single one of them. Mikey thought if he didn't raise his head, whoever it was would get the hint and walk away. He desperately hoped so, but the person stood there rigidly for a moment before clearing their throat loudly.

Mikey raised his head, squinting in the sun to see Armando standing a foot away, clad in a black turtle neck, dark sunglasses, and much to Mikey's dissent, the scarf he had left in the apartment several days ago. He was extremely pale and sweating, beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead and sticking to his brown hair. It was still very cold even though the sun was shining, so Mikey didn't understand why he was sweating so much. His hands were shaking and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which was incredibly uncommon for Armando. He usually hid his wrists as much as he possibly could, ashamed of the decisions he had made when he was a teenager. Mikey could remember the first time he'd seen the scars on Armando's wrists. It still made him feel sick with guilt. Of course, Mikey hadn't been around when those particular cuts were made, but it also wasn't some big secret that Armando was still self harming in various ways when he was alone at night. Mikey had tried very hard to break the habit, but it was to no avail.

"M-Mikey?" The man said standing before him. It deeply bothered Mikey to see him so weak. Was he sick? "Mikey... I... I'm so fucking sorry," He sputtered, and he raised his hands towards his boyfriend like Mikey would automatically take him back. As if sensing that was rotten, Armando returned them to his sides helplessly. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," He said again and again like a broken record. Mikey couldn't stand to watch this. "I... I love you so much. So goddamn much. I was just... Confused. I didn't... I wasn't going to rape you," He continued, frantically running his hands through his hair.

Mikey couldn't watch that anymore.

He didn't love Armando, but he did care about him and Aniese, as much as it bothered him to admit. When Armando hurt, Aniese hurt too. The thought of Aniese sad made Mikey feel bad. Aniese didn't deserve that. She was burdened by her brother, and that wasn't fair at all. Mikey didn't want Aniese to feel sad. He scooted slightly to his left and gestured towards the space beside him.

"It's fine, Armando. It's fine. Sit down," He mumbled, closing the book on his leg. Armando quickly accepted the invitation, sitting down beside Mikey hastily. Mikey could now smell him, and his nose crinkled. He reeked of somebody who had given up showering and deodorant for lent. This was either because of his sweating or Aniese had been working late recently,unable to force her brother into the shower or both. Mikey rubbed his nose, trying to ignore the stink, as he opened the book again, trying desperately to pick back up where he left off. This was hard though because Armando was incredibly distracting. He wouldn't sit still, rocking back and forth on the edge of the fountain and muttering to himself. Mikey caught the edge of his mumbling.

"Had a really bad nightmare last night," He said below his breath, rocking back and forth, one hand moving towards the neck of his turtle neck. Mikey glanced towards the man to see his forehead slick with even more sweat. His hair was a matted mess, clinging together in sweaty chunks. "There was a man in my room... He bit me in my sleep," Armando continued, but Mikey had no idea if he was talking to him or not.

"It was only a dream," Mikey replied anyway, his eyes on the page but receiving no words. Armando continued muttering scratching at his neck hopelessly. This was annoying Mikey. It definitely wasn't past Armando to act like a complete and utter psycho after a nightmare. Armando had been known to have night terrors and then believe they were true, freaking out for days on end. Mikey couldn't even count the number of times he'd woken up to Armando screaming about monkeys living in the walls. Mikey snorted at the memory. He wasn't going to be boarding up his windows anytime soon to banish the fictional vampire Armando dreamt of. The painter tried to go back to his book, but Armando was still very distracting. In the corner of his eyes, Mikey watched as Armando pulled back the neck of his shirt and began scratching. Finally, Mikey turned towards him, one eyebrow raised, and asked in a very exasperated tone, "What are you doing?"

Armando pulled back the neck to his shirt to reveal two black horizontal holes in his skin. They were barely pin pricks, and they weren't to far apart. It was definitely a bite, this was obvious to Mikey. "I think it's a spider," Armando mumbled as Mikey squinted towards the bite.

Mikey wasn't stupid. He knew Armando. "Has Aniese seen this?" He asked, as his boyfriend moved the neck back over the bites self consciously. Armando shook his head ashamedly, staring down at his shoes. "Of course not because Aniese would have made you go to the hospital," Mikey replied. Hesitantly, he reached forward, pulling on Armando's bare arm, which was shaking terribly. He appeared to be growing even more sick and more weak. This worried Mikey. Not necessarily even for Armando, but the thought of Aniese coming home to see Armando twitching on the floor because of this spider bite terrified Mikey. "C'mon. You need to go to the hospital," He said, tugging on Armando's arm.

Armando shook his head defiantly, staying rooted to where he sat on the fountain. "No," He moaned, shaking his head again, "It's okay... I'm fine."

Mikey was determined though. He pulled on his boyfriend's arm again, standing up now, the book in his free hand. "Come on. I'll drive you," He almost begged. Armando raised his head from his shoes weakly, and then, very slowly rose to his feet. Much to Mikey's dismay, he wrapped his arm around Mikey's back, supporting him against the painter with a huff. It seemed like he didn't want to walk.

So, Mikey pretty much wore Armando all the way to the car. It wasn't completely terrible except for the smell and when Armando stopped to hiss at a few cats, like he usually did. "I hate cats," He had muttered after they had ran away in confusion. When they got to the car, Mikey opened the passenger door for Armando and threw the book into the backseat as his boyfriend flopped down weakly onto the passenger seat, ignoring the seat belt and moaning as he curled up. Mikey shut the door, moving to the driver's door. Again, he questioned why he was even doing this as he opened the door, sliding into the driver's seat, turning the key, and abandoning the peaceful park. So much for solitude. He liked it so much better when he was alone and not completely done.

"I'm perfectly fine," Armando mumbled in a drowsy state from where he lay curled on the seat, "Just take me home."

"No, and I'd really like it if you put your seat belt on," Mikey reprimanded, feeling more like a caretaker than a lover. Armando responded with only a groan, turning over so his back faced Mikey. Mikey rolled his eyes, looking back out the front windshield as he drove through the town. He sighed softly as the hospital came into view. It was modest and normal, much like the rest of the town. "I just..." Mikey continued, but he really didn't know why, "Don't want you to get sick or anything."

Suddenly, Armando turned over. His sunglasses were now off revealing red ringed eyes from a lack of sleep. "SO YOU DO CARE ABOUT ME!" He shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

"Just shut up," Mikey mumbled as he pulled into a parking space, turning off the ignition as quickly as he could. He hated being around Armando so much, and this was threatening to kill him. Armando had a way of sucking the little happiness he actually had inside of him. Still, Mikey stole a glance over at the man beside him to see that Armando was stretched out, groaning. "Come on. You're not that sick," Mikey mumbled as he opened his own door, "I'm not carrying you again."

The inside of the hospital smelled like antiseptic and disease. In the waiting room of the ER, there were people seated along the walls, some coughing, or looking very pale, or holding a crying baby. The noise in there was a mixture of ruckus and annoyance that felt like somebody was running a drill right into Mikey's brain. Mikey stood rigidly by the door beside Armando, whom seemed to have lightened up a little bit because he was pulling on Mikey's sleeve. "Check in for me," He hummed, leaning against his boyfriend.

"No," Mikey denied, peeling Armando's hands off of his coat sleeve, "Aniese would make you do it if she was here." The caused a chorus of grumbling from the man, who let go of Mikey and walked off towards the box with the little window where a few nurses were standing around. Mikey took a few steps into the waiting area, his fingers twitching nervously. He hated hospitals. He hated being sick. Everybody around him simply resembled a virus rather than a person. He roamed his eyes across the waiting room and decided on a blue seat in the corner. When he sank down into it, arms around his chest, Armando reappeared looking rather pathetic, shot a confused look around the crowded and loud room, before he walked towards Mikey apathetically and sank into the seat to the right of him.

For a few seconds, he left Mikey alone, and Mikey was happy about that. He stared blankly ahead, going deaf to the noise in the room. He felt ill already, and he had only been here a minute. Mikey didn't understand who on earth would choose to be a doctor willingly. Sure, it must be nice to never had to worry about money. Mikey missed that. He always worried about money. There had been a time when money burned as bright as the sun. That seemed like a hundred years ago.

His thoughts were torn away immediately when a warm hand appeared on his right leg. Mikey's eyes shot towards it automatically as the hand traveled up his leg mischievously. Mikey followed the hand up and pale arm then up to a grinning face that was leaning ever closer. Mikey was disgusted. "Armando," He snapped, but making no move to stop his hand, "Stop. Right. Now."

"It's been like two weeks. C'mon. Forget this little bite. It's nothing. Let's go home," He mumbled, lips curling up farther into a smirk. The hand wouldn't stop, and it was now pressed over Mikey's crotch. Mikey nearly panicked.

"Five days," Mikey corrected. He needed to do something now. It didn't matter how needy they both were. A part of Mikey was wondering if Armando was only doing this because he didn't want to be here. Regardless, this could be very bad. "You're going to get me arrested," He hissed, taking Armando's hand away into his and holding it there between the two seats. People around the couple were staring at them. Probably rightfully so. Armando tried to squirm out of Mikey's hand hold, muttering something, but Mikey had a firm grip. He wasn't going to get arrested because Armando couldn't keep his hands to himself.

After several uncomfortable minutes of hand holding and staring, a nurse appeared and called for Armando. Mikey still didn't trust Armando and his hands, so Mikey felt forced to hold his boyfriend's hand all the way until they were back in a small hospital room. Mikey sank down into a chair in the corner, watching Armando carefully to make sure he didn't try to run off. Armando hopped up onto the bed covered in that strange paper, running his fingers along the perforated edge, tearing little pieces off. The nurse said that the doctor would be in shortly. Then, she turned and left the two alone.

Neither person spoke as they sat there alone. The sounds of beeping from various medical equipment and the buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the empty air. Mikey thought to himself, his eyes on his boyfriend on the bed. Sometimes, Mikey wondered why he even tried anymore. His ears were still red from being so embarrassed earlier. That was very mild compared to some of the things Armando had done in the past. Perhaps it was bad, but in the past, there had been times when Mikey had not been able to say no. That was only encouraging the outrageous behavior. Mikey lowered his eyes, feeling rather guilty when the door opened, and he raised his head again.

His heart stopped.

Never in his mind had he even thought of the possibility that Frank may be here. That hadn't even crossed his mind. He may have even forgotten completely that Frank was even a doctor. Yet, there he was, hand on the door knobs. Mikey's eyes grew wide. Frank looked much different at work. His grey vest and white shirt were gone, replaced with blue scrubs, tennis shoes, and a white lab coat. He carried a clipboard in his left arm close to his hip. A stethoscope was hung around his neck and an ID card swung from his left coat pocket. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of Frank's appearance were the maroon drips on the blue scrubs or the fact that his eyes were more dialated then one's should be in such lighting. Had Mikey been paying attention, he would have noticed how out of place that seemed for a man who was usually so clean. Mikey didn't even noticed them.

Mikey's face turned bright red as soon as Frank noticed him. "Mikey! My comrade," Frank greeted as if they were old friends, paying no attention to the obviously very sick man on the bed, "What brings you here?" In the background, Mikey could faintly see a glare haze over Armando's face. He wasn't happy at all. Mikey didn't want to experience that.

Mikey couldn't speak. He simply gestured towards Armando on the bed, and Frank turned, noticing Armando for what was probably the first time. "Ah!" Frank said, lifting the clipboard and looking over it, "The infamous Armando Mara." He approached Mikey's boyfriend slowly, head tilted as he lowered the clipboard, lips curling into a smirk, "Got bit by the itsy bitsy spider now did you?"

Armando's glare intensified. "I don't want to be here," Armando said darkly, and Mikey could see his hands tense around the bed. Franks smirk only grew. It was incredibly immediate to Mikey, as unobservant as he is, that they were not going to be the best of friends any time soon.

"Nobody ever wants to be here except those who carry the syringes," Frank muttered, his eyes running over the man with a sort of dark contentment. At that moment, a smirk surfaced on Frank's face, his lips curling up. The sheer sight terrified Mikey, but he couldn't place why. His stomach ached, and he noticed as he looked towards Armando that his boyfriend wasn't even phased. Armando's eyebrow twitched, but that was the most emotion he showed.

"Are you always this fucking creepy to all your patients?" Armando asked rigidly, his eyes staring straight into Frank's.

The second he said that, the smirk disappeared, as did the light in Frank's eyes. He folded his arms rigidly around his chest, eyes narrowed. "Show me the bite," He muttered, a sense of annoyance on his voice. Armando paused, tightening his hands around the bed, seemingly considering whether even cooperating would be worth it. After a moment of glaring, one hand moved towards the neck of his shirt, pulling back the fabric to reveal the two markings.

Mikey watched as a sort of glow entered Frank's eyes. The doctor moved closer, his hands on either side of Armando's neck, eyeing the two marks. "Ah, yes. I should have known," Frank responded letting go of Armando and wiping his hands on his coat, "This... Spider that bit you. It's... A sort of mutation... A new breed, if you will." Frank took a few steps away, rubbing his chin, "If left untreated... It will cause a raging infection, and you will die."

Armando's head suddenly shot towards him, "WHAT?!"

"Untreated!" Frank said quickly, looking back towards the man on the bed, "I do have an anti-venom. You're quite lucky Mikey brought you here, Armando." His lips curled up just the slightest when he said that, and then he started off towards the door, "I'll return with the anti-venom."

And then, Frank left rather coldly, leaving the two alone in the hospital room. It was entirely silent for a minute, both men sitting wordlessly, residing the awkward puddle Frank had created. After some time, Armando turned towards Mikey. "That's him, isn't it?" He said rigidly, his hands clenched, "That was the guy on your phone."

Mikey only stared at him.

"He's a complete fruit cake, Mikey," Armando hissed seriously. Mikey couldn't remember a time when he had heard Armando speak so certainly. He tightened his hands around the arm rests of the chair. "Don't talk to him anymore," Armando muttered, shaking his head, "Please, Mikey."

Mikey still only stared.

At that precise moment, Frank burst through the door, almost like he had been waiting. In his hand there was a long syringe with some sort of brilliantly blue liquid in it that swished as Frank walked. Mikey watched how he held the syringe carefully, his statue-like hands gripping it gingerly yet firmly. He allowed himself to stare longingly at the veins that stuck out along his white hand. They were beautiful.

Frank stood before Armando and tested the syringe carefully, watching as two drops of the blue liquid dropped from the needle's point with a sort of affection, and then moved towards Armando, needle held upright. "Hold out your arm," He demanded still with a soft firmness. Armando paused, looking between his boyfriend and the doctor as if considering whether it was a good idea or not, but after a second, he reluctantly displayed his left wrist.

The scars. Mikey had to look away, but Frank didn't. In fact, the tiniest, most discrete smirk crossed Frank's lips as he aimed the needle to one if Armando's veins. "This may sting just a bit," He said, and his smirk seemed to only grow even larger.

The second the needle met Armando's arm, the man on the bed twitched and let out a loud yell, jerking to get away, but Frank's left arm grabbed Armando's shoulder perhaps with more force than he needed to use, rooting him to where he sat on the bed. He pressed the anti-venom into Armando's arm, the blue liquid draining down the long needle and into the vein. After a few seconds, Frank pulled away, letting go of Armando with a smirk. Armando glared up at him with deep dislike, and Frank only responded with a pity laugh. "Now now..." Frank muttered, holding the used syringe in his palm, "That's no way to respond to the man who just saved your life."

Armando only glared.

Frank seemed to deem Armando cured. He turned away towards Mikey who had been entirely silent for some time now. Mikey raised his eyes and met Frank's. His heart raced, and he could feel his stomach twist. "My dear, Mikey," He began much to Mikey's dissent, "I heard our painting sold for quite the pretty penny, did it not?"

Mikey knew he would feel the pain if he spoke to Frank. Armando was only a few feet away, watching and listening intently with a judgmental eye. Mikey gulped harshly, and he only nodded his head.

"Perhaps I could come over and model again this evening," Frank said, his voice low and seductive. It took everything in Mikey's power not to stand up right then and there and press his lips to Frank's. That was so wrong. Mikey knew he couldn't say no. He knew he couldn't, but before he could speak Armando cleared his throat loudly.

"Actually no," Armando said loudly, standing up from the bed and pulling on his sleeves, "Mikey has a date... With me. So that's not going to happen." He crossed the room, grabbing Mikey around the shoulders not very softly at all, jerking his boyfriend into his arm.

Frank stood there before the two, his eyes narrowed coldly as he looked between the two men before him. His eyes roamed over Mikey longingly but very coldly, and Mikey couldn't remember ever seeing Frank look so angry. It was a quiet, condensed sort of anger, but the rage was still there.

"Pity," Frank muttered in reply, and he turned and left the hospital room very coldly.

Before Armando could say another word, Mikey ripped away out of the room, down the hall, and out of the hospital. It wasn't until they were in the car that Armando had even caught up to him, slamming himself against the driver's side window. Mikey reluctantly rolled down the window, glaring over his glasses. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Armando said quickly, panting from having to chase Mikey through the hospital parking lot.

"Get in the car," Mikey replied, jerking his head towards the passenger seat as he turned the car on. Armando thankfully complied, piling into the passenger seat and ignoring the seat belt yet again. "I'm taking you home," Mikey muttered, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking spot.

"What?" Armando yelped, and he reached across the seat, grabbing Mikey's arm, "No... No, please, Mikey." Mikey peeled his hands off as he drove out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Mikey, please. I... I miss you is all," Armando whimpered in the most pathetic tone Mikey could remember hearing, "I don't... I don't want you to get hurt... I don't want you to be alone tonight."

Mikey ran the options over in his mind as he drove down the street. He could go home and spent the night alone, probably laying in his bed, contemplating suicide. Or, he could go to Armando's and spend the night not alone, but still pretty depressed. The choices were both completely terrible.

However, Mikey's heart ached. He had ignored Armando purposefully for days, screening calls and deleting texts. He spent time with another man who was naked. Wasn't that cheating? He had never kissed Frank or touched Frank sexually, but it still felt like cheating. The most he had done was masturbate a few times to Frank's picture, and if that was considered cheating, Mikey was in trouble for jacking off to more than just Frank. Regardless, Mikey recalled how awful he'd been to his boyfriend. Fighting off a ball of regret in his throat, the painter decided that not even Armando deserved that.

"Fine," Mikey muttered, feeling pretty pathetic himself, "I'll stay with you today."

Armando cheered excitedly like a little boy. Mikey couldn't help but think to himself what an absolutely awful human being he had become. How had his life ended up amounting to this was completely beyond him.


	8. The Third Mistake

Later that evening, Mikey was sitting on Armando's sofa, a snoring head laid across his lap, mouth open and drool leaking onto his jeans. The reflection from the TV a few feet away reflected off of the two, a monotonic buzz irradiating like some sort of demon. The TV was playing only a static screen, white noise the solitary sound in the entire room. They had lost signal over an hour ago due to the increasingly heavy snow out of the window. Armando had been asleep for nearly two and half hours, and Mikey, knowing how tired the man must be, didn't want to disturb him by rising and switching off the TV.

He wasn't sure why he had been enduring the white noise, or the fact that Armando would occasionally moan in his sleep, but he had. The static was in the slightest bit unnerving and unsettling as it would occasionally flicker in and out of a completely black screen and silence, but Mikey had stifled that, staring at the screen through his thick glasses like it held answers, occasionally running a hand through his boyfriend's long, dark hair. Mikey had assumed Armando had been drained of energy as a result of the antibiotic and his spider bite. The man has simply stumbled in, drank a bottle of orange juice, and then fell onto the couch, passing out after fighting sleep for several hours, on Mikey's leg, pinning Mikey to the couch until well after midnight.

Mikey's eyes wandered towards the clock on the wall to find that it was nearly two AM. He had wasted an entire night sitting on this couch like an idiot. He wondered why Aniese wasn't home. It wasn't like her to be super late or spend an extended amount of time out of the house. She hated crowds and people in general, so staying out late wasn't common with the woman. Mikey bit his lip. He had wanted to see her, but it was getting so late, and he felt very tired.

Sighing softly, Mikey picked up Armando's head. The man didn't even stir in the slightest. He was dead asleep. Mikey could feel his heart slow down. Had Armando woken, he knew he would have been yelled at for attempting to leave. Still, Mikey felt bad as he watched the man shiver on the couch, a damp line of sweat on his forehead. Mikey reached towards the end of the couch, picking up a black pillow, sticking it under Armando's greasy head and laying a blanket over him.

"Perhaps he won't be so mad now," Mikey whispered to himself. He wondered at what point in his life he had dissolved to talking to himself. The television was still flicking between the ever present white noise or stillness entirely. Mikey felt annoyed by how ominous it was, so he turned, picking the remote from where it had fallen to the floor and clicked it off, ending the buzzing entirely.

And it was only dark.

In the silence, Mikey could make out the noise of somebody bumbling towards the front door rather loudly. Squinting in the darkness, Mikey grabbed his coat, sliding it on and walking down the hallway, feeling his way along the wall when there was the click of a key in the lock and the door opened. The smell of hard vodka immediately attacked him, and Mikey pressed a hand over his noise.

In the dim light from the hallway, Mikey could see the shape of Aniese leaning against the door. Just barely, Mikey could also see the light reflecting tear stains on her face. It wasn't like Aniese to drink or cry. Mikey had only seen her drunk when Armando had his dark moments and hurt himself, but never other than then and especially not in front of her beloved brother or her best friend.

"Aniese?" Mikey questioned, squinting towards the woman at the door.

"Guess who's drunk?!" The voice said in a slurred and overly excited tone. Had Mikey not known Aniese's voice so well, he would have never guessed it was his friend. Mikey gulped nervously.

"Oh," He replied quietly, edging towards the door, desperately trying to pass the woman, but she blocked the path entirely. "E-Excuse me," He babbled nervously, eyes on the floor. Mikey could think of any other time when he would have been more concerned, but now wasn't it. In another life, where he was a better friend, he would have stayed with her.

Suddenly, two hands met his shoulders, and Mikey found himself pushed against the brick wall. "You're reaaaallly hot," The intoxicated woman slurred, and Mikey felt his entire body suddenly begin to panic, "Like reaaally."

"Aniese, stop," Mikey whispered, struggling to break away. She wasn't quite strong, but Mikey definitely did not want to hurt her, "Please."

"I always wished you weren't gay," She mused, leaning closer to Mikey's pale and shivering face. Mikey twisted away, trembling even more. "We could have so much fuuuuun," She hummed again, pressing her body against Mikey's.

Mikey couldn't take it. Gasping loudly, he ripped away from the woman, pushing on her chest and rushed from the apartment, leaving the door wide open and not bothering to dull the loud noise of his boots as he raced down the steps towards the exit. What had just happened? Had... Had she came onto Mikey? Had that just happened? Mikey reflected that there had never been sexual tension between himself and Aniese. There was always simply a quiet understanding between the two that it was never going to happen and that was that. Especially from how much Aniese wanted Armando to be happy. Or?

No, Mikey pushed that away. He had never wanted Aniese like that. She was only a friend and only that. Nothing more. Never anything more. And she knew that. She had always respected that just as any normal person would.

Still slightly frazzled, Mikey found himself in the snow, flakes collecting on his shoulders and head as he found his car, covered in a faint dusting. Mikey passed it off simply as intoxication. Aniese had only been drunk. That was all. The snow was slowing when Mikey reached the outside, stepping into the cold as he buttoned up his heavy coat. His eyes traveled across the parking lot and found his car, blanketed in several inches of snow. Mikey let out a soft breath and moved towards his car, clicking the unlock button and ducking inside. He sat in the car for a silent moment, allowing his eyes to stare off into the snow. Orange street lamps reflected off the flakes as they fell delicately down into the roads and drifts. Mikey wondered if the snow would ever stop, or if, just one day, the entire city of Midnight Falls would be buried alive. He imagined the corpses of the townspeople frozen in their last actions of life, hands outstretched, fingers grasping. He imagined himself stiff under miles and miles of snow, which, somehow, became an imagination of spending the last few minutes of his life having sex. He didn't even give an identity to the person whom was pleasing him in his imagination, but he knew that's how he wanted to die, if it were to happen that way. Perhaps that just showed how frustrated he actually was.

A sharp vibration tore Mikey away from the nice imagination. He jumped noticeably, and he clasped his hands over his pocket where the violent rumbling was coming from. Heart racing, Mikey became aware that it was his phone, which had been residing silently in his pocket since he returned back to Armando's after the hospital. He had nearly forgotten that he still had his phone. Mikey brought it from his pocket and flipped it open without even registering or looking at the number.

"Yeah?" He mumbled, feeling rather tired and annoyed that somebody was calling him at this hour, even though he wasn't asleep.

"Ah! I knew I could rely on a night owl like you, Mikey."

Mikey's heart dropped the second that voice filled his ear. His stomach twisted, and his eyes widened. That... That couldn't be. He searched around his car, like he was looking for an escape, but there was none. It would be plainly rude of Mikey to hang up on the person at the end of the line, but it's what he wanted to do.

"What's wrong, Frank?" Mikey said, his voice aching and barely able to hide the dread that was obvious in his voice. Why was Frank calling him so late?

"It appears my car died. The engine refuses to turn over, and I'm stuck at the hospital," Frank replied, pausing, and Mikey could hear him pace around in the background, "I couldn't seem to find a ride here, seeing as I was the only one on call, and now, my shift has ended, and I'm entirely stranded."

Mikey swallowed a very hard lump in his throat. "Yeah?" He mumbled, folding his free arm around his chest nervously. He was reminded of the hospital visit that had happened earlier in the day. Armando had demanded Mikey not to see Frank anymore.

But Armando wasn't here. He didn't have any control right now.

"You... You want me to pick you up?" Mikey questioned, even though it was pretty obvious that was what Frank wanted.

"That would be lovely!" Frank declared, his suddenly loud voice shocking Mikey, whom nearly dropped the phone, "I would nearly owe you my life, dear Mikey."

"You don't have to do that," Mikey mumbled as he pressed his key into the ignition and started his car. He glanced around the parking lot, and then pulled out of the parking space and drove towards the empty street, "I'll be there in like five minutes."

"I'll be waiting," Frank whispered in a very low and seductive tone before the dull buzz of a dead line filled Mikey's right ear. Mikey let out a sigh, and the phone dropped from his hand down into the seat as he drove down the empty street. Even though it was risky, Mikey didn't even bother stopping at the stop signs or red street lights. There was nobody awake at this hour anyway.

Like Mikey had promised, he appeared outside of the hospital five minutes later. He expected, as he parked his car in front of the main entrance to see Frank standing there waiting, but he didn't. Cursing Frank quietly, Mikey parked his car, running his hand through his hair. There was no way he was getting out of his car or going into the hospital this late at night.

Then, at once, Frank appeared and seemed to materialize right out of the black of a shadow into the flickering fluorescent light. He was still wearing the maroon stained blue scrubs that Frank had so willingly adorned earlier, but the white lab coat was gone now, replaced with a heavy, black coat, and a weighted brown bag that was leaning on his shoulder. The moment Frank made eye contact with Mikey, his lips curled up into a smirk, and he approached the car. Mikey had a very sick feeling when he unlocked the door and Frank slid inside.

"Pardon my baggage," He said softly, laying the bag across his lap, which made a very loud sloshing sound, like it was full of water, "Work things, you know."

"Oh... Yeah..." Mikey replied, watching as Frank closed the door and clicked his seat belt shut. Mikey noticed, as he watched Frank's hands, that they were shaking fiercely. Mikey blinked away as he put his car into drive and pulled out of the circle driveway. He felt sick.

"I must thank you, Mikey... Really... This means the world," Frank said, pressing his hands together with a loud clap before pressing them back over his sloshing bag to hold it in place. Mikey bit his lip as he sat at the stop sign that was right before the actual road.

"Yeah. It's nothing, really," Mikey just wanted to go home. He felt like he was going to be ill, and the thoughts of what Armando would do when he found out he had been alone with Frank. No. He didn't want to think about that because Armando wouldn't know. Mikey was an adult, wasn't he? Genius or not, Armando doesn't know everything, and he can't lead Mikey's life for him. Mikey was comforted by this feeling of being in charge, and he cleared his throat, "I don't know where you live, Frank."

"Oh! It's quite easy to get to, just turn left here," Frank directed calmly, pointing down the road that led directly out of town, due west into the forest. Mikey swallowed a hard lump in his throat, and he turned left. The moon was high and full directly in front of them, and the light shone into the car. Mikey would sometimes sneak looks at the man beside him and see the light reflecting off his pale face. He was beautiful. "You keep looking at me, Mikey. Am I making you uncomfortable" Frank said after several minutes of silent driving, but he didn't sound sorry. In fact, he was smirking. This startles Mikey, and he jerked his eyes back to the road, and the car almost swerved.

"No! No!" Mikey said very quickly, his sweating and shaking hands gripping the wheel nervously, "No... Sorry."

Frank laughed quietly, obviously amused by Mikey's discomfort, "You don't have to be ashamed, Mikey. I'm not judging you." There was a pause, and Mikey could feel eyes on his face. "It's actually quite flattering... Attention from a guy like you..." Frank's voice was low and seductive, and Mikey felt like he was going to send the car into the ditch with all his shaking. Mikey realized this was probably his chance to act... Frank was flirting, but Mikey knew he was too moral. Too. Too moral.

"I have a boyfriend," Mikey reminded Frank, and then, it was silent. Mikey wondered if Frank wanted him. If Frank had the same lustful, filthy imaginations that Mikey had for him. If Frank dreamed about Mikey the way Mikey did for him. Mikey did not know. He wanted to know, but... He had a boyfriend.

Mikey had never hated Armando more than he did at that precise moment.

"I know you do, and heavens, I would hate to tear you two apart," Frank said calmly, and he pointed up ahead, "Turn onto the gravel there." Mikey slowed down as Frank cleared his throat, picking back up where he ended, "I just happen to be fascinated by you, Michael... You're... Amazing."

Mikey couldn't believe what he was hearing. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were wide. Mikey couldn't even respond. Was this coming onto him? Mikey bit his lip and turned onto the gravel road. His hands tensed as he stared straight ahead. "I'm glad you think that," Mikey said softly, and, in the distance, he could see the outline of a large home.

"That's where I live," Frank said excitedly, pointing towards the silhouette, "See? I bought it when I moved here, and I've remodeled it. It's very old and slightly dilapidated, but I love it."

"That's how my house was," Mikey stated as he drove up closer. His stomach hurt more and more the closer he got. He could now see what appeared to be some sort old gothic mansion. There were two tall towers and a smaller triangle building between them. Several white squares of houses were behind that, connected with chipped white paint. Even though Frank had said that he had remodeled the house, Mikey couldn't tell at all. Yellow weeds grew up tall in front of the home, brushing against places where the paint had been long gone. Mikey wanted to take back his statement. His house did not look like this.

"I'm rarely ever home," Frank said as Mikey pulled to a stop in front of what appeared to be the front door, "So, I haven't quite finished up on the outside, but the inside is so much more remarkable." Frank turned his head towards the man beside him, and Mikey had no choice but to do the same even though he had an over whelming sense of dread, "Would you care to see it?"

Mikey met Frank's eyes very, very nervously. He didn't want to. He felt immensely like he should kick Frank out, turn the car around, and go home. He wanted to go home right now. Mikey wasn't quite sure why he wanted to go home so badly, but he did. He didn't feel safe.

But... When Mikey met Frank's eyes, he could feel his worry disappear. At first, there were nearly no words that Mikey could find, but after a few seconds, Mikey took a breath. "Yes... Yes.. I'd... I would like that," He said softly. Frank smiled suddenly, and he popped his car door open. Mikey pulled his key from the ignition, and he rounded the car, moving beside Frank in front of his house. Frank slipped his bag over his shoulder and then started off for the door, Mikey shortly behind him, kicking through the watery slush on the ground that was reflecting luminescent moon light.

Frank held the door open with a small smirk, and he allowed Mikey to walk into enter before himself. Mikey could feel his cheeks redden as he stepped inside. The entry way was like a small room with a staircase leading up to the second floor, and Mikey could see one on the second floor leading to the third. There was a circular skylight directly above Mikey, and he could see the moon beaming down at them.

There was a loud and sudden chorus of barking as Frank's dog ran to greet them from wherever he had been hiding in the house. He bound like a wolf through the entry way, and he jumped, placing his front paws on Frank's chest gleefully. Frank smiled in response, running his hands through his dog's fur, laughing softly. "Hello, Alabaster. I missed you as well," He said, rubbing the side of Alabaster's head for a moment before he pushed lightly on him, and he hopped down, "But that is no reason to be rude. We have a guest."

Mikey didn't know whether he was supposed to greet the dog or not, so he simply waved. He felt foolish for waving at a dog that did not even notice him. The dog had its nose buried in Frank's sloshing bag, sniffing curiously. Frank pushed on the dog's neck. "Alabaster! You are quite rude! These are work things," He tried to get the dog to back away, but he stayed there, keeping his nose in the bag. "Goodness," Frank sighed, and he looked towards Mikey who was incredibly confused, "Do you mind waiting in the parlor? I must put my work things away or else Alabaster will remain underfoot." Frank gestured into an open doorway to his right.

"Er.. Of course," Mikey muttered, passing by Frank and his dog awkwardly as he stepped inside the next room. It was dark in here, candles lit along the walls that had presumably been burning since the last time Frank had been home, whenever that was, glowing along the green walls. Mikey stepped in further curiously, looking at the various black furniture. There was an emerald colored couch the same shade of green that was in the center of the room, angled so the ends faces two black, Victorian book shelves. Mikey noticed how strange the book shelves where, and he moved closer. Along the little aisles, there were a few incredibly old books in languages that Mikey didn't even recognize, but that was nothing compared to the skulls.

Yes, skulls.

Some of them appeared to be apes or neanderthals or something, but most of them, appeared to be human. Mikey mouthed, "What the fuck?" At least four times as he looked them over. Some of them were missing the tops of their skulls, the craniums being used as some sort of morbid flower pot, as plants sprouted from the top. 

Mikey felt very strange as he stood back, heart pounding, and he decided to look out the window, hoping to find something less disturbing, but, this was not met.

Directly outside of the window, there was a view of the great black lake, but, directly in front of the pane, there were two, faceless girls with long, black hair in white nightgowns, staring into the room.

Mikey screamed, jerking away from the window, flailing his arms as he ran directly into a person behind him, which only made him panic more, screaming so hard that his voice cracked. The body very carefully grabbed his arms, cooing softly. "Mikey? Mikey? Are you quite alright?" The familiar voice of Frank hummed, trying to capture Mikey's slapping hands, "What frightened you?"

Mikey nearly couldn't speak, and he found his still struggling wrists subdued in Frank's firm but calm grip. Mikey caught his breath, his heart beat finally beginning to slow. He let his arms fall limp, but Frank didn't let go. "W-What the fuck is outside your window, Frank?" He wasn't even embarrassed that he had cursed in front of the doctor. That just wasn't in his mind.

Frank frowned, and he looked beyond Mikey out of the window that had scared him so terribly. He let go of Mikey's wrists and stepped towards the window, peering out for a moment before he let out a loud gasp. "OH!" He exclaimed, and he turned back to Mikey, "The mannequins!?"

Mikey turned, stepping towards Frank even though he was still shaking, and he peered out. The sight still startled him, but 'the mannequins' as Frank had so endearingly called them stayed in place. "They aren't real, Mikey," Frank said with a soft laugh like that explained everything. Mikey only nodded his head, his heart still pounding slightly. He could not get over how incredibly odd everything about this was. Frank gestured out towards the lake in the distance, "See the lake?" Mikey nodded again. "I like it, and yet, I do not like it," Frank said softly, staring out of the window, "It's beautiful and terrifying... Reminds me just of how small I am." 

He raised a hand and rubbed his pale chin for a moment, considering his words. "When I moved here, they showed me many houses in Midnight Falls, but none of them peaked my interest until this one, and it's because of that lake," Frank removed his hand, his eyes still staring out the window fully dilated, "When it storms, the water swells nearly to my front porch. You can see the water line when you look close enough... The currents out the middle, those big waves, are enough to drag you under, and you'd never see the light of day again..." A small smile crossed Frank's face, and he looked back towards the quailing Mikey, "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's... Powerful," Mikey muttered because he didn't quite know what to think about Frank's quasi-monologue.

"Oh, Mikey," Frank whispered, and Mikey was suddenly aware of a hand wrapping around his. Mikey lowered his head and saw Frank's palm holding his. Mikey's heart began to race, but he couldn't say anything. He could only raise his head and look at the doctor in front of him. "Power is beauty," He said in that ever-present calm and cool voice.

Mikey honestly had no idea what to say. His eyes met that of the Frank's, little rings of red around black irises. It scared him so very much, but... He loved it. He loved the way Frank was touching him so softly and calmly. He had never been touched softly before, even in the beginning when he and Armando were simply 'experimenting' in a room only lit by a television stuck on a pause screen. This... This was different, and oh, how Mikey loved it.

"Would you like to see the rest of my home?" Frank said quietly, tilting his head. Mikey could only respond with a shaky head nod when what he honestly wanted to do was kiss Frank very roughly right here and right now, which was a vast contrast from the softness he felt. Frank only smirked as he grasped Mikey's hand and led him out of the strange parlor and into the entryway. He took Mikey up the stairs onto the second floor. It smelled of mold and mildew, and Mikey's nose crinkled.

Strange paintings lined the walls, a woman naked, curled up, wearing a plague mask. It reminded Mikey of something he would paint. Frank was speaking loudly, filling the air with tiny tidbits of information about his home, passing doors he deemed 'not ready to show guests'. One door was slightly cracked as they passed, and Mikey got a glimpse inside only to see some sort of creature standing in an empty bathtub, shrouded in a long cloak as hundreds and hundreds of butterflies circled around, but Mikey blinked and when he opened his eyes the door was gone, and Frank led him on.

They saw many rooms, each more peculiar and creepier than the last. Frank's study was much like the parlor, decorated with skulls and books and strange candelabras. The guest bedrooms smelled so terrible of mold that Mikey nearly gagged. One of the guest bedrooms had a wall completely filled with paintings of eyes, each one more and more menacing. One bedroom had a shelf entirely full of severed baby doll heads set up on springs. 

Mikey didn't have time to question anything. Frank ripped him from room to room, his hand hold tearing him along until they reached a flight of spiral stone stairs. "The master bedroom is my favorite," Frank said, one hand reached behind himself around Mikey's as they passed candles. Mikey hadn't said a word the entire trip. He had no idea what he could say. Insulting Frank's... Eccentric... Style seemed beyond what was appropriate.

Frank led Mikey up what felt like a hundred stairs until they reached a little landing and a dark door. Frank turned back to Mikey, and he ran his thumb over Mikey's hand softly. "I am so excited, Mikey," He said quietly, and he began to smile again. Mikey bit his lip, looking down at the ground shyly. This felt so wrong, and he loved it so much.

The door opened, and Mikey raised his head as Frank led him in. The rest of the house was severely dilapidated, but this room stood alone at the top of the tower. It was incredibly clean, and it smelled softly like flowers. There was a green canopy bed that appeared to be entirely velvet with a black headboard and footboard. There was a fireplace burning in the wall directly to Mikey's right and a black rug in front of that with two green chairs on either side of that. Long, wide windows opened up out of the tower, curved around the circle room, benches inside of them where a few books and pillows sat. Frank let go of Mikey's hand, and he moved towards his bed, laying back on the end and letting out a loud gasp.

Mikey nearly gasped too. He was so surprised to see Frank loosen up so suddenly, and he wasn't sure what to do. He watched as Frank sat up slightly, brushing his hair back. "Forgive me," He said, a soft giggle apparent in his voice, "The sight of my bed after a long day comforts me so. You would understand."

Mikey could feel his heart race, and he nodded his head. He watched as Frank lowered his eyes, which were glowing in the romantic light. "I'd love for you to spend more time here, Mikey... I'm a much different person when I'm in the comfort of my own home," Mikey watched as Frank moved one hand from the bed, and he moved it along his own leg, trailing it ever so slowly up his thigh. Mikey couldn't nearly watch that. He felt close to leaping across the room and tearing the clothes off of his muse, and after what he had heard tonight, Frank wanted that too.

But that was wrong.

Mikey had a boyfriend. Not some sort of slutty side-mistress, even though Frank is a guy. No. Mikey was loyal. He had to look away to the window, moving away, and patting the bench. "D-Did you make this yourself?" Mikey asked quietly, his eyes staring out at the moon over the lake.

There was a pause before he could hear Frank rise and approach him, as much as he hated that. "I did... My own idea. I do love to sit there and watch the water," Frank said, but his voice wasn't as smooth and silky as it had been. He stood beside Mikey, and he turned towards the shivering painter beside him, "Isn't it a lovely view?"

Mikey knew he wasn't talking about the lake. He suddenly felt very, very sick. "Y-Yeah... The lake..." He reaffirmed, and he began moving towards the door, his heart in his throat. Mikey brushed his blonde hair back as he reached the door. "Thank you, Frank, for the tour. It was great. You have a nice place, but I really need to get home," Mikey said quickly, his hand on the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait!" Frank yelped quickly, and he hurried towards the door with a seemingly frantic sense in his voice, "You haven't seen the basement, my second favorite part of my home!"

"Look, no, Frank. I haven't slept for like two days. I need to get home," Mikey nearly repeated, holding up one hand as Frank got closer and closer, his stomach cramping with anxiety.

Frank stopped a foot away. The franticness fading from his eyes, replacing with soft smirk, a light glowing in his eyes. "You're not much of a night owl then, Mikey," He laughed calmly, and he raised and eyebrow, "When can I see you again?"

Mikey wanted to say 'when you stop trying to seduce me'. But, he swallowed that. He knew, deep down, he needed to see Frank soon. The money from the first painting was not going to last forever. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I-I don't know," Mikey stuttered, "Tomorrow evening?"

Frank's soft smirk never faded. "Until then..." He said calmly, bowing slightly towards his painter. Mikey responded by nodding his head as he turned and left the bedroom, down the tower, and out of the house. He climbed into his car, heart racing, and he reminded himself of the past hour only to find that the memories not only terrified him... But intrigued him.

He thought of how softly Frank had touched him... How calmly. He wondered if he had played his cards right, if he would have been able to kiss Frank or... Something more... No. No. Mikey shook his head as he started his car. That was wrong... He had a boyfriend. A boyfriend whom deeply loved him. Mikey could feel his heart ache. He didn't love Armando. Mikey sat there for a moment. He knew he had feelings for... Somebody. He knew he did, but he had no idea if they were only sexual, a longing for pleasing, or something more. Mikey leaned his head back and moaned loudly, rubbing his forehead. He couldn't breath hardly because of his anxiety. Why was this happening to him? Why? It had been SUCH a long day. He just wanted to be home as soon as possible.

Mikey put his car in gear, and he pulled away from the strange, old house and the dark lake. He decided he'd worry about his feelings at a later date. As Mikey left the driveway, he glanced out his rear view mirror for a moment and saw in the tower window a dark silhouette that held his gaze for only a moment before the light went dark, and the figure disappeared all together.


	9. The Cancer

The following evening, just as planned, the two were down in the basement, readying for a new painting session. Mikey's hands were moving along Frank's arms as he made the man recline on the couch, leaning onto one arm of it on his left elbow and curving his other arm over across his crotch. It only looked better that way, according to Mikey who had trembled the entire time. He ran his fingers over Frank's arms and chest for no reason at all. Frank's eyes never moved from where they were gazing off into space, almost like he wasn't even there. He didn't even look as Mikey grazed his fingers along Frank's shoulder.

He couldn't stop himself. Mikey's whole body was aching for one kiss, just one more soft touch, which was something he was not used to. He was imagining as he stood there, what it would be like to sink to Frank's eye level and kiss the man directly on the lips. It would be so easy, and he knew Frank wouldn't push him away, but it would also be so, so wrong. So incredibly wrong.

Mikey was not familiar with this feeling. It felt like he was being sucked and pulled and submersed into a dark and endless void with nothing but darkness, pure and complete darkness. It was a terrifying, but completely seductive feeling. Mikey knew with every touch, every soft stare, every smirk, he was being pulled more and more into the void. He couldn't fight it. There was no way to. Mikey had never felt this way before, like how a beautiful piano sounds, or the way water reflects golden light so early in the morning. He knew what it was although he had never been close to it before, and though he was still denying it with every fiber of his living being, it was so incredibly and painfully obvious.

His hands slowly moved down Frank's chest, and Mikey blinked back to reality, to find his eyes and hands moving along skin where they should never be. Mikey began to blush, and he wordlessly took a step back towards his easel, then turned completely, wishing to forget entirely. He disappeared behind the easel, biting his peach lips, mixing the paints just the way he had the past several times.

It was silent. Mikey couldn't even hear Frank or his dog breath as he moved the brush along, moving the picture before him onto the canvas. His eyes moved down his arm and paintbrush like an IV hooked to an addict. The brush turned about, creating swirls along the couch and up Frank's legs almost blending him into the fabric, like part of the environment. He wasn't entirely sure why he did that, but it was beautiful. The tip of the brush grazed against the pallet of paint, picking a color, then it would swim along the easel like some sort of snail leaving art instead of slime.

It was magical. Like every sort of worry or concern that Mikey had seemed to float away the more and more he painted. It was a release, and he let go of his worries, rational and irrational. Not one concern crossed his mind as he watched his brush go and go and go. He was in his own world, only distracted at various intervals by his eyes wandering much too long on the man on the couch.

And then, just as he had somewhat expected, Mikey was torn from his concentration dream world. At first, he wasn't even sure what had jerked him out of his psuedo-consciousness. He stood there, blinking back to reality, knowing that something had jarred him away. Mikey blinked his pallet still in hand when the thing came back again at full force.

No, it wasn't just a thing. He sat down his paintbrush and clamped his hand over his right pocket to feel another loud vibration. Mikey still almost didn't realize what it was until he saw the tiny little brick of light illuminating against the fabric of his jeans, and it was incredibly clear.

His phone.

Mikey was aggravated beyond belief. He didn't even answer it. He only scoffed, turning back to the easel, picking up his paintbrush, and continuing right where he left off, however, it was not the same dark submersion he had felt before. Mikey was distracted, ripped, half clinging back to the concentration that he could no longer feel. He was trying, of course, but it was so incredibly difficult because after thirty minutes of silence, the sounds of constricted vibration sounded again.

This time, Mikey couldn't ignore it. He gasped loudly and irritably, setting aside his little tray of paint and paintbrush, wiping off his hands on his jeans. "I am so sorry," He said to Frank, raising his head, "I really, really need to deal with this."

Frank blinked back to reality, tilting his head towards the painter. "It's fine, of course," He said sincerely, staying where Mikey had taken so much to position him, "Go ahead."

Mikey nodded his head in appreciation and hurried towards and up the stairs onto the ground floor. He knew who it was even before he pulled his phone from his pocket and saw the name. It was quite obvious who it would be anyway. Nobody would try to call him as obsessively as he would. Mikey stood at the top of the landing of the stairs and flipped his phone open.

"What?" He growled with no sort of passion or cheerfulness in his voice to be hearing from his boyfriend. There was an uncomfortable and incomprehensible whimpering on the other end, and Mikey rolled his eyes, slapping his free hand along his cheek, "Armando, I'm fucking busy! What do you want?"

"I-I fucked it up, Mikey," Armando cried in a very, very low and panicky voice. Mikey could hear him sniffling and festering over on the other end, and Mikey could only imagine what he could have messed up so badly. 

"What did you fuck up?" Mikey couldn't remember the last time he had said fuck two consecutive times. It really wasn't in his usual character, but Mikey was beyond ticked.

"I-I don't h-have enough money t-to pay for my medication," He whimpered sounding downright pathetic, but Mikey's mouth dropped open anyway. Aniese barely made any sort of paycheck with her minimum wage job scrubbing floors and toilets at the hospital. What little she did manage to make mostly went to keeping Armando healthy, which Mikey had always admired. In the past few months, Aniese had been noticing a change in Armando, new sadness and a tendency to close off to others. Fearing another dark age, Aniese decided it would be best to give her brother more 'freedom' by giving him a cut of her paycheck which was mostly to be spent on his medication. When it was spent, it was spent, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Mikey honestly didn't see in what way this would be a good idea, but there hadn't ever been any problems. Armando had been usually trustworthy with the new task. At least, until now.

"Are you kidding me?" Mikey hissed in disbelief, "What the hell did you spend it on?"

There was a long pause only filled with a few soft sobs on Armando's end and Mikey tapping his foot irritably. Mikey was growing increasingly impatient. "Well?!" He snapped into the phone.

"V-Video games! I spent it on video games!" Armando gasped, and he dissolved into louder, realer sobs. Mikey could practically picture him laying in his bed or on the couch, sprawled out on his stomach like a bad kid about to receiving the spanking of his life. The image in itself would have been hilarious at any other time but now.

Hearing this confession made Mikey's ears glow red. "Video games..." Mikey whispered in a low voice to keep himself from screaming, "You spent... Your sister's money... On video games..."

"Please don't tell Aniese!" He cried right into the phone so loudly that Mikey was afraid he blew his eardrum out. He moved his phone to the other ear, rubbing the aching one as he thought it over.

"Armando, she's going to know," Mikey said, holding out one hand even though Armando couldn't see him, "And it's not like you can go without your medication. What the fuck are you going to do, Armando? What the fuck?"

Armando was in hysterics now. "I-I'M SORRY. I'M S-SORRY, OKAY?" He practically wailed. Mikey couldn't bear to listen to this. He hated hearing or seeing Armando cry because it was always arguably the most disturbing or pathetic thing Mikey had ever seen. 

"You shouldn't be saying sorry to me," Mikey mumbled as he grew more and more tired of listening to Armando wail. This wasn't even his problem now that he thought it over. Why was he always dragged into their affairs? Why? Mikey was half tempted to hang up the phone, turn it all the way off, and go back to Frank, but for some reason... He couldn't. 

"I-I need help. Please... I need some money," Armando whimpered, and Mikey could hear him struggling to keep from sobbing again. Mikey couldn't find the strength to close his phone. Did that make him weak? Of course it did. He stood there for a moment, his phone pressed to his ear, and an intense amount of dread in his stomach. He had never hated Armando more than he did at that moment.

"Fine," He hissed into the receiver, "I'll be at your house in ten minutes."

And then, Mikey hung up, not waiting for a reply or any sort of recognition. He only assumed Armando was at home, crying in his bed. He never left his home. His stomach ached as he closed his phone, shoving it into his pocket, and marching back down the stairs to the basement. Mikey knew he would have to leave Frank here, and that made him incredibly sad. No part of Mikey wished to abandon the beautiful man and go see a much less beautiful man who more than likely stank terribly.

When he got down into the basement, Frank rose his head slightly, watching as Mikey approached the easel, his eyebrows furrowed curiously. "Who was on the phone?" He requested. Mikey noticed that he was still laying there completely exposed, and his eyes shot to the floor.

"Armando," Mikey mumbled, pretending to be interested in laying the canvas aside. He shook his head, "I am so, so sorry, Frank. I have to go." Mikey felt entirely terrible as he wiped excess paint on his work jeans. Frank watched for a moment before he pulled himself away from the couch, stood and slid his clothes back on wordlessly. It wasn't until he was fully dressed, straightening his tie that he spoke again.

"I have absolutely no room to judge, Mikey, but..." He said quietly, smoothing down his vest, and he turned towards the uncomfortable painter who was keeping himself busy by messing with his glasses, "I'm not so sure I like Armando."

Mikey was, to say the least bit, surprised. He couldn't remember Frank ever having a negative opinion about anything. He shrugged his shoulders simply, too shocked to give a proper reply as he laid the canvas aside. He had enough done to be able to resume it whenever the next time they were together would be. Mikey hoped it would be soon. Every single second, he was more and more dreading leaving Frank and going to see his boyfriend.

He could feel Frank getting closer, and the heart inside Mikey's chest raced. He clenched his hands as he stayed slightly bent over, staring at the canvas. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and grab Frank, kiss him violently, and then finally be pleased like he never had. Mikey knew if he turned at that moment, that's exactly what would have happened, so he stayed where he was.

"When can I see you again?" The smooth and seductive voice asked, and Mikey finally stood straight up and turned. Frank's lower lip was puffed out dramatically, and Mikey thought that was adorable. Mikey wanted to beg him to never leave. With every single fiber of his being, he longed to fall onto his knees and plead for Frank to stay with him here for the night, a companion to hear his sorrows, hold his hand, comfort him. It sounded so nice, and the thought made Mikey weak.

He had to fight that off, the terrible desire, and the growing lump of sadness in his throat. "I'm not sure," Mikey said, shrugging his shoulders like he didn't care, "I'll call you or something." Mikey thought he probably looked so lame, like a little kid who's best friend's parents don't like him, so he's being forbidden to play. It wasn't fair.

Frank simply smirked like he always did, and his right hand moved towards Mikey's very slowly, and the painter watched with wide, intrigued eyes as his muse very delicately clasped his palm inside his own. Mikey's lips trembled and every part of his body knew it was wrong, but he loved it. The dark void sucked him in further, and a complete warmness rushed over his entire body. Mikey raised his eyes to Frank's to see a sort of light glowing inside the red irises. A radiance that Mikey could not compare to any other that he had seen before in his life. His skin turned to goosebumps, and he felt as though the air had been sucked entirely from the room.

"Walk me to my car, will you?" The doctor asked in the silkiest, smoothest voice Mikey had ever heard. It took Mikey not even a second to nod his head, and he watched as Frank smirked ever more, snapping his fingers. His dog arose, and Frank began up the stairs, Mikey clutching his palm. Mikey could feel his heart beating in his hand where the strange man held him. He followed closely behind Frank to the door where the doctor pulled his hand away almost unwillingly. Mikey watched in awe as he slid on his sunglasses and coat and gloves and scarf with the most grace that Mikey had ever seen another human create. He moved his hands like he was conducting a symphony or dancing to classical music. Flowing movements, so long and perfect. Statuesque beyond any lengths of the word. Magnificent.

Mikey was lost. He never knew he could be so infatuated with one person, one aspect of his mundane life. So attracted and utterly seduced that it felt like his body had became Jello, and Frank was running three thousand volts of pure electricity from one end to the other. He was coming alive for the first time in years, and it was all because of this man.

"Mikey?" The man said with a soft laugh in his voice. Mikey blinked back to reality, surprised how much he had allowed himself to drift off into space and lose himself to this man. He was embarrassed, and his face turned red. Frank laughed again, covering his mouth elegantly, "Are you quite alright?"

"Ah... Yeah! Yeah!" He replied much too energetically as he grabbed his own coat off the rack as well, sliding it on over his paint-splattered t-shirt and jeans. He grabbed a stocking cap too and pulling it over his head, not thinking about his company. He had never worn the stocking cap in front of Frank since he usually only wore it when he didn't care about his appearance, and only cared about being warm. This made Frank giggle even more. Mikey turned his head towards him, raising an eyebrow, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Frank reassured with a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He reached forward and took Mikey's hand again, stepping forward and opening the door. A freezing blast of air hit the two, and the husky burst past out into the gathering snow. Mikey kept his eyes on Frank, feeling a small smile on his face as well. He couldn't remember the last time he has smiled.

"What's so funny?" He asked again, and he squeezed Frank's hand. He didn't know why he did, but it felt nice and unfamiliar. Very, very nice.

"Your hat," Frank said softly, and he stepped into the cold, pulling on Mikey's hand. Mikey followed him down the steps into the snow with the new smile still on his face. Frank pulled him closer when they were at the bottom of the steps, his eyes flicking to Mikey's lips more than once. Mikey thought he was going to be kissed.

"My hat?" He responded, a quiet chuckle on his voice as the cold hand held him tighter. That felt so incredibly good. Snow was slowly flaking down between the two. It was romantic, but Mikey felt like he had never experienced romance before. It was new and fresh and welcoming. Mikey loved it. He wanted to be romantic. He took a step closer, but he knew that was wrong, so he stopped. "Should I take it off?" Mikey asked, laughing again.

"No, no," Frank replied. His free hand moved like a little bird. Mikey watched as his fingers grazed along the hat, moving from the top of the cap, down to the left ear, pulling on the flap with a small smile, "I think it's adorable."

He thought they would kiss. Mikey was certain that they would, but as his eyes were pulling shut, and his body was slowly leaning forward, Frank pulled away, running his hands down away from Mikey's ears and hands mischievously and stepping back. "I really must be going," He whispered quietly, folding his hands in front of his stomach, looking towards the painter. Mikey felt instantly like his heart was breaking. He longed to grab Frank back.

"Y-Yeah," Mikey stuttered. He nodded his head like it didn't even matter. It did matter. It mattered quite a lot. He felt sick. "Me too," He wanted to cry.

Frank smirked behind his thick sunglasses and made a little bow towards the painter, "Au revoir, Mikey. Godspeed." And with that, he turned towards his black Mercedes, snapped his fingers, and disappeared inside the dark car with his dog. Mikey watched the car until it was gone down the road, a speck of black on the bridge leading into Midnight Falls.

Mikey didn't even allow himself to think about what had just happened as he got in his own car, pulled out of his driveway, and drove towards the bridge. All he knew was that the further he got from him home and the closer he got to Armando, the worse he felt. His happiness and the nice, warm feeling in his chest was fading away, replacing itself with freezing depression. He couldn't even begin to recall the nice feeling that had been inside him earlier. It had vanished.

When he was at Armando's door, every ounce of happiness was gone. He rapped his knuckles on the door loudly, but nobody answered. Cursing under his breath, Mikey kneeled down onto one knee, digging under the mat. He knew where they hid the extra key. When it was found, he rose, unlocking the door and stepping into the apartment. Immediately, his ears were met with the sounds of weeping, loud, chest-rattling sobs. Mikey rolled his eyes, closing the door behind himself and laying the key on a little table. He didn't have the will to move forward, to see the man who was so foolish, but he knew he had to. Mikey pulled off his shoes and coat, stepping out of the entry way in his work clothes.

"Armando?" He called into the house, rolling down his plaid sleeves back to his wrists. There was a pause in the crying, and Mikey raised his eyes to see his boyfriend at the top of the loft looking absolutely repulsive. His greasy hair was lank along his shoulders, and the first signs of facial hair were splattered across his chin. Armando's face was streaked with tears, and his eyes were completely red. The second he saw Mikey, he let out an incredibly loud cry, rushing down the stairs towards where Mikey was standing, catapulting himself into Mikey's arms. Mikey was shocked... He did not like this at all. It was not warm or comforting at all, like how Frank's was. 

Mikey pushed him away instantly. "Don't," He warned in a very rigid voice, taking a step back, "Just... Don't."

Armando took a step back, wiping his eyes, and he seemed to gain back a minimal amount of his composure. He wiped his brow, shaking slightly as he stood there. "I-I'm sorry," He sputtered again, and his hands tried to grab at Mikey again, who simply pushed him away.

"Don't," Mikey mumbled simply, folding his arms around his chest, "Do not." Armando pressed his hands over his cheeks, commencing with his crying. Mikey felt sick as he stood there, watching his boyfriend cry. "I'm so disappointed, Armando," Mikey mumbled, and he watched as Armando crossed the room and flopped down the couch, "Like, you seriously fucked up."

"You think I don't know that?" He responded, and Armando leaned forward, burying his face in is hands and resting his elbows on his knees. Mikey could tell that he was immensely sorry for what he had done, but Mikey didn't care. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," Armando blubbered desperately, and he raised his head towards Mikey, revealing his red eyes, "Like... I need my meds."

"Yeah... You do," Mikey replied, and he turned off towards the window away from his boyfriend. He was certain he knew why he was called here, but he wished to avoid that entirely. It was sick and repulsive.

"Mikey..." He moaned across the room, and Mikey kept his back to the man on the couch, one hand moving towards his blonde hair, running a hand through it. Mikey didn't even bother turning around. He could hear Armando rise and lumber over, "Please, Mikey."

"No, Armando," Mikey said rigidly, folding his arms back around his chest again. He felt safer that way for some reason. There was grumbling behind him, and, within a second, Armando was in front of him with a very desperate and pathetic look on his face. "No," Mikey hissed, and he turned around, back to his boyfriend again.

"Mikey... I'm desperate, please. All I need is-"

"A hundred dollars," Mikey snapped, cutting him off, and he turned over his shoulder to see Armando with his hands pressed together. Mikey didn't even need to question it. "Armando, I barely have enough money to pay the bills. What makes you think I can spare a hundred bucks because you blew it all on stupid shit?" Mikey was so angry. He could feel his forehead throbbing, a headache swelling from the anger.

"I couldn't control myself!" Armando said quickly, tears running down his face again. He reached out, grabbing Mikey's arm, which only made Mikey pull away. "Y-You know how I am... When I get excited," He began, his voice shaking terribly, "I... I just... I lose all sense. I can't help it."

Mikey was surprised by how much he sounded just like Aniese, like he was absorbing and believing his sister's excuses as much as she was. Mikey was appalled, and he needed to take a step back again, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous," Mikey whispered in a low voice. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been more angry and disappointed. "I'm going home," He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting off towards the door.

"I'm ridiculous?" He began, yelling across the room. Mikey just wanted to leave. He kept his head low, walking until he heard the next thing Armando said, "Mikey! You're the one who hangs around naked doctors all day!"

That made Mikey stop dead in his tracks. He paused, standing in the entryway, halfway bent over to grab his coat from the ground. Mikey couldn't nearly believe he said that. He stood upright slowly and turned to see Armando standing in the middle of the floor, barefoot and bedraggled. "What?" Mikey questioned, because he wasn't even sure he had heard correctly. 

"You heard me!" He said in a very loud, very forceful tone, starting towards Mikey, his hands clenched, "You spend all day with that fruitcake when you could be spending it with your boyfriend!" Mikey kept himself rigid, but he was on fire on the inside. "It's disgusting!" Armando showed no signs of even stopping. "He's disgusting. Weird ass voice... Creepy as fuck..." Armando continued, and Mikey nearly felt like he was boiling. He wasn't quite sure why he was getting so offended suddenly.

"You don't even know him," Mikey only hissed.

"I don't have to! I know he's a freak!" Armando snapped, and he was now inched from Mikey. They both stared at each other with rigid and complete anger, entire bodies tensed in deep argument. "He's. A. Freak, Mikey," Armando hissed as he got closer and closer to his boyfriend, "If you loved me, you wouldn't see him anymore. You'd respect my wishes."

It took Mikey less than a second to decide on his next move.

He turned around, bent down, and picked up his coat. Mikey didn't even allow himself to think of the consequences as he slid his feet into his black shoes. He didn't love Armando. He never had, at all, so this decision was incredibly easy. Armando hadn't been anticipating that, but his anger wasn't spent yet, so he kept on his tirade.

"If-If you walk out that door, Michael James," He yelled, stammering slightly as he struggled to come up with a decent consequence, "I... I never want to see your face in this house again!"

Mikey paused for a second, considering what Armando had said with a completely straight face. He wasn't so sure he took this threat, much less anything Armando said, seriously. In all honesty, however, the half-assed warning sounded wonderful. He could be free at last... He could... Pursue Frank.

Without any words, Mikey continued to the door, his hand moving to the knob. 

"N-NO! NO, MIKEY!" Armando suddenly screamed, anger replaced by terror. He rushed forwards, and he grabbed Mikey's arms suddenly, forbidding the painter to leave the apartment, "I-I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I SWEAR."

Mikey ripped away, and he pulled the door open. This was it. This was the end. His eyes fell upon the hallway just as Armando began completely weeping. Mikey could hear behind himself as the man collapsed onto his knees and let the entire apartment complex with his cries. They were the loudest, saddest, most depressing cries Mikey had ever heard in his life. Somewhere inside his aching heart, Mikey felt entirely terrible. This wasn't typical Armando attention seeking; He was honestly in pain. 

Mikey knew he didn't love Armando, but he wasn't so sure Armando didn't love him. He stood there staring into the hallway, the crying surrounding him like an ocean, but he didn't move. He couldn't for some reason.

Mikey had a choice, and he knew that. But, somewhere in his stomach, he ached. He knew what he wanted to do, and he knew what he had to do. So, with an incredible amount of dread in his stomach, Mikey closed the door, took and step back and very slowly sank down onto his knees beside the weeping man.

"It's... It's okay," Mikey comforted softly, rubbing his palm awkwardly down Armando's back, "I'm not going anywhere."

Mikey didn't know whether his decision was stupid or noble, but it was the one he made. The second he sat down, however, he wondered if he had even made the right decision, or if he was comforting a man whom he would be much better off cutting from himself like a cancer.


	10. The Break and The Fourth Mistake

Mikey lay in Armando's bed, his eyes gazing out the window where a light snow was falling. It danced against the wind, swirling against the windows and then falling towards the ground. Mikey clutched his arms against his bare chest, bringing his knees closer as he watched the flakes slowly drift on past where he could see them through the window pane.

His heart ached. After comforting Armando in the hallway, his boyfriend had saw that as an invitation to initiate a sloppy, wet make out session in the entryway to their apartment. Mikey had tried so desperate to push him away, but Armando was stronger, and he had sooner found himself pushed against the brick wall, the buttons to his pants coming undone.

After the frantic rocking was over, Mikey wet and weak, Armando had decided he wanted to sleep, and he had carried Mikey off to his rickety old bed. He had claimed he didn't want to be alone since Aniese wasn't yet off work, but Mikey knew he had ulterior motives for when he would awake after several hours, horny as ever.

Mikey felt cheap. All he really was to Armando, so it seemed to him, was a cheap, sleazy whore who would put out any time a man touched him the right way. Mikey buried his face in the pillow, gasping almost inaudibly. He wasn't a whore, he knew that. He just had needs, and Armando barely filled them. Mikey rolled onto his back, and he could hear a loud snore from his boyfriend behind him. The sound reminded Mikey of his internal turmoil, so he slapped his hands over his eyes.

The entire time he and Armando had been having sex this evening, he had tried so desperately to imagine that it was Frank pleasuring him rather than Armando. It was a filthy and disgusting, but Mikey had somehow found the replacement... Enjoyable. It made the time with his boyfriend more tolerable, except for when the imagination would be ruined by Armando's loud, throaty moans. Mikey could only imagine what his neighbors must think by now.

Even as he lay there, wrapped in a worn, holey blanket, Mikey could not seem to get his muse off of his mind. He thought back to earlier in the evening, reminding himself of how it felt to lay his hands on Frank, run his fingers over his cold, marble-like skin, like how it felt to watch a paintbrush move along the canvas. He thought of how strong his muscles in his arms and legs were, sturdy and muscular, but not in a weird way. Almost like they had been carved by gods. His black, well kept hair that skirted nearly to his shoulders. Mikey always wanted to run his hand through Frank's hair. It just looked so soft.

Mikey couldn't keep his brain from Frank. He just couldn't. Every thought continued to run back to the man who was naked on his couch only a few hours ago. He thought all kinds of thoughts. He wandered over the idea of what Frank's lips may taste like. He imagined they were sweet, like candy canes. Something desirable, unlike Armando's sour, stale taste. Mikey wondered why Armando tasted like that everywhere, all the time.

He thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship with Frank. He wondered what it would be like, sitting in his foyer, waiting on Frank to drive him to their very first date. He wondered what type of flowers Frank would buy, if he would buy flowers. He'd probably buy flowers. He thought about how it would feel to fall asleep in Frank's emerald bed for the very first time, his whole body curled around Frank's, both men breathing softly, arms tight around each other, their heartbeats synced.

And lastly, before Mikey decided he had gone too far, Mikey allowed himself one sexual thought, or rather fantasy, about Frank. He imagined visiting Frank at the hospital, faking illness just to be around his muse. He thought about Frank coming in the room, saying in a low, husky voice that Mikey needed a 'thorough examination'. From there, the thought continued on until Mikey finally had to roll onto his stomach to push away the imagination. It was a good one though, a very good one.

Even just the thought was enough to drive Mikey crazy though as he rolled his head to the side, so he could continue to watch the snow, laying on his arms and stomach now. Half of his conscious wanted to take his phone out and open the picture of Frank that he had on his phone, the naked one where he is reclined so suggestively on the sofa. He still hadn't deleted it even though every single time he opened it, Mikey had every intention to.

It was so incredibly late. Mikey could see the red glow of a clock on the nightstand. It read, "2:31 A.M." Mikey just wanted to go to sleep, but he knew he would wake up underneath Armando, and that was something he wanted less than anything else on Earth. Mikey also knew that any attempt to leave would only cause retaliation from Armando.

Armando.

Every time he crossed his mind, Mikey could feel himself internally cringe. That man was a thorn in his side and nothing more. A thorn. All Mikey wanted, he realized as he lay there, was to get out of this toxic relationship. It would be so easy. There was no emotional ties that Mikey could feel that he had stuck between himself and Armando. It would be so incredibly easy.

But no, Mikey knew he couldn't. That just wasn't an option right now. He would be losing some large aspect of his life AND one of his only friends. What would Aniese think when she found out Mikey had left her brother to date the man who was supposed to only be Mikey's muse? She would destroy herself. In the end, it was all Aniese's fault that Mikey had even met Frank in the first place.

Mikey sighed softy, and he sat up, leaning on his arms. The bed springs creaked, and Mikey cringed. Beside him, the mass that he called his boyfriend stirred, and Mikey knew he had woken up the beast. He moved quickly, heart pounding, sliding back on his clothing as fast as possible. He knew he only had a few seconds before Armando woke up and interrogated him. He was sliding on his pants when Armando turned over and faced the painter on the other side of the bed.

"Why don't you ever paint me?" 

Mikey wanted to puke all over the bed. Not this again. He buttoned his pants, keeping his eyes on his button, "Armando, don't."

"Why not me?" He questioned again, sounding less sleepy. Mikey turned his back to his boyfriend, staring out the window where the slow was still lightly falling. "I don't want you staring at other guys, Mikey," Armando continued even though Mikey hadn't answered his first two questions. 

That was it.

Mikey turned over his shoulder suddenly, facing his boyfriend. "It's a business relationship, Armando, and apparently, you don't get that," Mikey wasn't so sure about that. He stood up shakily, pulling his pants up to his hips and buttoning them.

Armando stood up too, rounding around to the front of the bed. Mikey thought he would come closer, but he stayed at the foot board, staring at the man at the other end who was focusing on his button. "Why can't I be your business relationship? You already give that fruitcake all the benefits, right?" He snapped, folding his arms around his naked chest.

This made Mikey stop completely in his tracks and raise his head. "What are you implying?" He muttered in a low voice, terribly afraid of whatever it was that Armando was going to do now.

"You two are obviously screwing!" Armando accused suddenly, and he moved in front of Mikey. Even in the dim moonlight, Mikey could see the anger in his eyes, reflecting the moon's white light. There was no soft, warmness like what radiated from Frank's red irises. Only hatred and anger.

Mikey wasn't very shocked that Armando would so readily accuse him of this. It was exactly like Armando to say things he had no proof of. Mikey narrowed his eyes, practically un-phased. "No, Armando," He said stiffly, "We're not screwing." Not yet, anyway.

That seemed to be enough. Armando crossed the few feet that separated the two, and he clasped his hands roughly over Mikey's shoulders so quickly that Mikey jumped. He attempted to escape, but Armando had a close hold. Armando leaned next to Mikey's ear and growled, "Aniese isn't home."

Mikey's heart dropped.

Before he was even coherently aware of what was happening, Mikey was suddenly plucked from where he stood, into Armando's arms, and thrown onto the bed. Gasping, he landed on his back, jarred slightly and staring at the ceiling. All he knew was that he was terrified. Mikey had always know this was going to happen sometime, just he did not know it would happen today.

Within a few seconds of landing on the bed, Armando crawled over him, pinning Mikey with each of his hands. He roughly bent down, fighting against Mikey as he pressed his lips against Mikey's chin, face, and neck sloppily. "I can go down and please you. I can suck your cock," He growled, digging his nails into Mikey's shoulder, face buried in Mikey's neck, "Do you want that?"

"ARMANDO, NO!" Mikey screamed, straining he voice. He struggled even more, panic filling his veins as he fought against his boyfriend, but Armando pressed his hips harder against Mikey's, a sick laugh filling the air. 

One hand moved from Mikey's shoulder down to Mikey's pants, slipping inside the waistband, and Mikey could feel Armando's fingers graze his cock, which was throbbing from terror. Armando let out a groan, gripping Mikey's shaft. Mikey screamed out again, hoping only that one of their neighbors would hear. "ARMANDO, PLEASE!" He cried, tears running down his face, "PLEASE!"

This seemed to irritate Armando because he very quickly removed his hand from Mikey's pants, leaning both of his hands back against Mikey's shoulders nearly pressing his face to Mikey's. "Why? You open your legs for that fruit every chance you get? Why not me now?" He growled, and he very, very sloppily slammed his lips against Mikey's. Drool ran out of his mouth, over Mikey's cheeks, and Mikey cried out again, chest heaving.

That only pissed Armando off more. "Stop. Fucking. CRYING," Armando snapped. He sat up suddenly, and in a flurry of motion, rolled back his right fist and smashed it across Mikey's face with more brute strength than Mikey could ever remember experiencing from anybody in his life.

There was a snap, a pop, and it became clear to Mikey that his boyfriend had just broke his nose. Yes, his nose was broken, snapped out of place, and now, it was gushing blood all over Mikey's face, into his mouth, and all over the sheets. Armando had broke his nose.

That was nothing compared to the pain. It ripped through his face almost blindingly. It hurt so badly that it took Mikey a moment to even let the reality of what had happened hit him. But when it did, he cried out again just as loudly and as pained as the first two times. It was almost like somebody had lit a fire in his face.

Mikey didn't know what to do, but he knew he needed out. He began to claw at Armando's face, slashing away at his face, fingernails dragging along his sallow skin. Armando only grunted, obviously oblivious to the fact he had broken his boyfriend's nose, as he gripped his hands around Mikey's sides, pulling at his jeans.

Mikey couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. Only one thought of escape came to his mind, but it was such a low blow, he almost didn't want to. Then, as Mikey laid there, he realized he was willing to do whatever he could to get out of this horrible situation. He had to or something so terrible that he couldn't even dare to think it would happen.

The painter, through his profusely bleeding nose, somehow managed to kick one leg into the air at full force right directly into Armando's crotch. The man on top of him let out a loud, belly-deep cry of pain and fell off of Mikey onto his left side, writhing in pain as he laid in the bed. Mikey rolled off the bed onto the floor, landing in a pile. He knew he only had a few seconds to escape. There was no time to wallow in his pain.

Blood was running into his mouth, the taste of pennies being the only thing he could even recognize as he stood shakily, turning away from the bed and half stumbling out of the bedroom, pants around his ankles, down the spiral stairs and into the living room. His shaking hands grabbed his coat off of the arm of the couch, sliding it on faster than he knew he was capable of. He grasped his jeans, pulling them up, and then sprinting out the door. Mikey let his legs carry himself as fast as he could out of the apartment, leaving the front door wide open as he ran down the hallway and stairs into the snow.

Mikey couldn't stop the bleeding as he darted into his car, starting it up as fast as he could manage with his one shaking hand as the other was holding his coat sleeve over his profusely bloody nose. The taste in his mouth was almost making him gag as he pulled out of the apartment parking lot and into the snowy streets.

The car was speeding along the city streets much faster than it should have been. Mikey could barely see the road through his tears and attempts to wipe away some of the blood clogging his nose and the falling snow reflecting his yellow headlights. Mikey didn't stop at a single stop sign or stoplight the entire drive home. There was nobody else on the road, so it didn't matter. The only thought in his brain was his broken nose. 

He needed to go to the hospital, he knew that, but Mikey also knew there was no way he was going to do that. None. If he went to the hospital, Mikey realized as he drove over the bridge, tears mixing with his blood, there would be questions. Questions that if he answered would land Armando in more trouble than he could imagine. Jail time. A prison sentence potential. Commitment to an institution. Mikey let out a sudden, pained sob as the reality of that situation hit him. If he went to the hospital, he would lose his two best friends forever. Aniese would lose her beloved brother.

Mikey couldn't do that.

When the car finally stopped in his driveway, Mikey couldn't see well enough to pull his keys all the way out of the ignition, so they stayed there until, he figured, he was in a better state of mind. Mikey stumbled his way to his front door, not bothering to remove his shoes or coat. His left sleeve was entirely coated in blood, and his nose showed no signs of stopping. Both nostrils flowed with red blood so freely like Armando had opened a dam inside his nose.

He needed help, he knew that. Mikey wrapped his arms around his chest, sobbing helplessly as he managed to carry himself over to the cabinets in his kitchen. Walking there, Mikey had the hopes of finding something else to stop the blood, but the pain and tears brought him to his knees beside the wall. He was so incredibly weak, hard sobs rocking his body, that he knew it was no use. He needed outside help.

He needed Frank.

Mikey backed himself against the wall, his whole body curled together, and he pulled his phone from his coat pocket. It took him less than a second to open his contacts and find Frank's name, hidden in between numbers that at the time didn't even matter. Mikey didn't even stop to consider the fact that it was incredibly, incredibly late. Frank would answer anyway.

It only rang once before Frank answered. Mikey could feel himself calm down just the slightest when Frank's soft voice filled his ear. "Mikey," Frank cooed smoothly like he had been waiting all day just to see Mikey's number on his phone screen, "It's late, darling. Is everything alright?"

The way he said darling made Mikey cry even harder.

"Y-Yeah, yeah," Mikey lied, but there was no point. He cried harder, finding himself suddenly unable to form a complete sentence.

"Mikey? What happened? Are you in pain?" Frank said with a sudden amount panic and genuine concern in his voice.

"Frank, I just-" Mikey started, but his words were mixed in with cries and tears. "Frank, I just... I really need help," He cried, his free arm pressing over his nose, "Could you please-"

Frank didn't even allow him to finish his sentence. "I will be there in five minutes," He said breathlessly, and before Mikey could respond, the call had ended.

Exactly five minutes later, just as promised, the front door opened. The first noise Mikey was aware of was sudden, loud, and frantic barking from just outside the door. He craned his neck in an attempt to see Frank or his dog, but he couldn't. "Mikey?" He called, "What's... What's going on?"

Mikey knew he had to come clean sometime, but not now. "My nose is broken," Mikey cried, his sleeve still over his nose, so his voice was muffled slightly, "There's a lot of blood, Frank. A lot of blood."

There was a hesitant pause from the doorway before the barking stopped, and Frank entered very slowly into the kitchen, his shoes softly tapping against the wood floor. The second his eyes fell on Mikey's face, Frank's eyes grew very wide, and an immense amount of worry washed over his face. "Oh, Mikey," He whispered and very slowly slid down beside Mikey onto his knees. "Oh, Mikey," He whispered again, one hand moving up and lightly touching Mikey's nose, which caused the painter to twitch and wince, new tears running down his pale face.

"Shhh. Don't cry, darling. Don't cry," Frank cooed, and his free hand moved to Mikey's face, wiping away his tears with his thumb, "It's not broken. It's just out of place, an easy fix, no hospital." Mikey started to cry again as Frank move both hands to the bridge of his nose, "It's going to hurt. Just close your eyes, Mikey. Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts."

Mikey clenched his watery eyes shut suddenly, gripping his hands tightly as Frank pressed both hands tighter around his nose. Mikey tried to think of something happy, but nothing came to mind. "On three," Frank said softly, positioning each hand on his nose. Mikey tried desperately. Even kittens or puppies brought no warmth to his frozen heart. "One..." Frank started. Mikey bit his lower lip, stifling another cry. He felt so foolish for crying in front of Frank. "Two..." He continued, and Mikey suddenly had second thoughts, and he began to try to break away. He didn't want more pain.

"F-Frank, w-wait-"

"Three!" 

There was another snap, and a spurt of white hot pain ripped through Mikey's face. He screamed, actually screamed, so loudly that his voice cracked and dissolved into more sobs. Frank had him in his arms in a second, cooing softly words that Mikey didn't even recognize or hear beyond his screaming and crying. Frank was trying to wipe the blood away from Mikey's lips onto his own white sleeve, but Mikey pushed his hands away, holding instead onto the doctor's palms. He didn't want Frank to ruin his shirt.

When the pain finally ceased, and his crying calmed, Mikey pulled his hands away, wiping his eyes for a moment before he could focus on the man in front of him. For the first time, Mikey could see Frank's red eyes. The red, however, was barely a ring inside the pupils. His eyes were fully and completely dilated. Mikey, being in such a torn mental state, didn't even question it.

"Mikey," Frank whispered, placing one hand Mikey's neck very gingerly. Any other time, Mikey would have pushed his hand away. This wasn't any other time. He raised his eyes and met Frank's. "What happened to you? Who broke your nose?" He questioned. Mikey knew Frank didn't even have to ask. It was so incredibly obvious.

But the fact he was asking anyway, the fact that he just wanted to be sure, made Mikey burst into tears again. Frank cared about him. Really and truly and honestly cared. Mikey had never felt that before from any man. It made him feel better, in some sick way. At least, if anything, a very beautiful man cared for him.

Frank bit his lip, watching Mikey cry for a moment before he moved onto Mikey's right side, and he wrapped his long, pale arms around the painter very, very carefully. For the first time all night, Mikey felt safe. He leaned into this strange hold, his head on Frank's shoulder. "I know what happened," Frank said very, very calmly, "I know, Mikey."

A tear ran down Mikey's face, but he didn't say a word. All his brain was focused on was closing his eyes. He was exhausted, and he finally, finally, felt safe. His mind and emotions were a mess and sludge pool of pain and sadness, weighted down with big decisions of right and wrong, and, ultimately, the choice to end the only relationship he had ever had.

But, Mikey wasn't going to focus on that now. He was tired. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget everything that happened, the day, the night, the touching, the intimacy, the accusations, the pain, the blood, and only focus on this. The soft, soft hold he was in now. The arm around his shoulder, the other arm wrapped around his chest. The face buried his his hair, soft breath in his hair, running down his face. All he had ever wanted was somebody to touch him as softly as the first light of the sun touches every beautiful living thing when it rises every morning. That was all.

Mikey decided, when he would awake, he would make decision. He would rethink the value of his relationship. He would change his life. But for now, he began to lose himself, just like he had done so many times in his dreams, in the arms of his muse.


	11. The Fifth Mistake

It was morning the next time Mikey opened his eyes. He was flat on his back, shivering, sweat running down his face. He was staring at the ceiling, breath shallow and shaking. His brain had woke him up so suddenly, but he was unsure why as he lay there still trying to catch his breath and identify the situation.

He sat up very slowly, feeling a surge of dizziness in his head, so he closed his eyes, pressing his right palm over his forehead, waiting for the head rush to pass. Mikey was incredibly disoriented. As he sat there, he tried desperately to recall the night before. He remembered blood and pain... And Frank. Mikey furrowed his brow. Why had Frank been there in his memory? 

As if as an answer, a tiny bite of pain occurred in his nose, and Mikey moved his hand to the bridge of his nose. He recalled now the nature of his injury. Armando. An open fist that had so easily knocked his nose out of place, causing more blood to pour from his nose than Mikey had ever seen, and Frank had came to his rescue like some sort of super doctor.

Mikey blinked his eyes open. That was the precise moment he realized the lower half of his face was not coated in blood. Mikey ran his fingers over his upper lip. It was entirely clean, and he could breath rather well. Mikey lowered his eyes and noticed that, as well, his shirt had been changed too. The night before, it had been black. Now, it was white. Somebody had changed his shirt.

For some reason, the thought of this made Mikey's spine tingle. There really was no question of who had cleaned his face and changed his shirt. It was obviously Frank, but it still made him feel strange. The thought of Frank seeing his bare chest and stomach. Mikey rubbed his chest nervously. He wondered what Frank had thought of his pale skin. No. He didn't want to know.

Mikey raised his eyes and directly across his bed, something caught his gaze. He had to blink and stand to make sure he had saw it properly. Hung on the wall directly across the bed was the test painting from the first painting session that Mikey and Frank had together. The one where Mikey had draped the blanket over Frank's crotch at the last second. Mikey approached the picture shakily, his hands trembling. He knew he hadn't hung that there. He was certain. There was only one answer.

Frank had hung it.

Downstairs, Mikey could hear the soft sounds of movement. For a moment, he was scared just the slightest, thinking for a second of the possibility of an intruder, but, then, the smells of breakfast hit him. Eggs and bacon. An intruder wouldn't make breakfast. Slightly confused and mostly wary, Mikey took a step out of his bedroom in a sort of haze and made his way down the spiral staircase that led right to his kitchen. He felt weak and incredibly tired. He assumed that was from losing all that blood the night before.

When Mikey was nearing the bottom of the stairs, he craned his head out. At his stove was a sight he never expected to see. An attractive man frying bacon, one hand on his hip, and a very large husky standing beside him, gazing up at his master with wide, expecting eyes. Mikey couldn't hardly believe it. It was like all of his dreams come true.

The husky licked his lips and let out a low whine, brushing his nose against Frank's leg. Frank turned his head slightly to look towards his dog. "Oh, silly Alabaster," He said playfully, cooing towards the whiny dog on the floor, "You cannot have any. It's for Mikey when he wakes."

Mikey felt obligated to make Frank aware of his presence then, so he cleared his throat quietly. Frank turned around completely, and a small smile crossed his face when he saw Mikey standing there on the stairs. "Ah... Good morning, Mikey," He greeted coolly, his face soft and nearly shy, "I figured you would be awake soon." The man gestured behind himself towards the sizzling bacon, lips curled up into a smile, "I made you breakfast."

Mikey could feel his cheeks turn pink. He couldn't even find the words to thank Frank. He simply nodded his head and sat down at the table, folding his hands across his chest. Across the kitchen, the painter slyly watched his muse move about, flowing his arms around as he finished up the bacon and slid it onto a plate with beautiful, silky movements. Mikey felt obligated to say something. He had to.

"I... I saw you hung the painting up in my room," Mikey began quietly, and he averted his eyes towards the counter. He felt so incredibly shy. "When did you do that?" He questioned, his words barely a whisper.

"Last night," He replied, turning back towards Mikey, the plate in hand as he cross the kitchen and laid it carefully onto the island in front of Mikey. It smelled wonderful. Mikey could feel his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten a conventional breakfast of any kind. Frank slid a fork onto the counter as well almost playfully, a smirk on his face. "I saw it still in your basement and figured... Well... Why not?" Frank giggled softly, his hand still on the counter as he raised his eyes towards Mikey.

Mikey knew if he met Frank's eyes, he would burst into tears. He didn't feel much like shameless flirting right now. He took the fork from the counter and cut into the eggs before stabbing the little portion and shoving it into his mouth almost greedily. It was fluffy and light and tasted incredibly delicious. "Did you even sleep last night?" Mikey asked, swallowing his first bite, leaning on one arm on the table.

Frank smirked even more, and he shook his head. "I don't require much sleep," He explained calmly, leaning onto the counter portion of the island and studying Mikey like he was some fine art, "It's quite fortunate." Mikey didn't know what to think about that, so he only nodded and continued eating. He felt uncomfortable that Frank was studying him so closely. All he was doing was eating the eggs that Frank had scrambled and prepared for him. Beside him, he could hear the great beast of a dog whine again and lay his head on Mikey's knee. 

"Alabaster, please," Frank nearly hissed, tilting his head so he could see his dog back away from Mikey back beside Frank. Mikey was thankful for that as he devoured the nicely prepared eggs. Frank could most definitely cook, that was certain. Mikey noted that as one more reason Frank would make an excellent boyfriend, and then, he felt bad for thinking that.

It was a few minutes later after Mikey had finished the eggs and started on his first strip of bacon when Frank finally spoke. He had been expecting it for a while, and when the soft voice drew him from his subconscious, Mikey was anything but surprised.

"In... In my line of work," He began slowly and uncertainly, choosing his words ridiculously carefully, "I... I am... Required by law to report any... Suspicious injuries. Injuries that would give the indication of abuse." Mikey knew exactly where this was going, and he stopped mid-chew, and he stared blankly at the center of the bar. "I need to know the full story of what happened, Mikey," Frank continued, trying desperately to capture the painter's eyes, "I need to."

Mikey shook his head, laying down the rest of the bacon strip, and he raised his eyes, finally meeting Frank's red rings. "Don't worry about it," Mikey answered stiffly, and he self consciously lowered his eyes back to his food, taking another bite of the bacon.

Frank obviously didn't like this. He narrowed his eyes, nearly glowing with displeasure as he watched Mikey the few inches away. "I know it was Armando," He breathed almost like a warning.

Mikey raised his head again, shocked about how stubborn Frank was being with this. "Don't worry about it," Mikey repeated, feeling his cheeks turn just the slightest shade of red from nervousness.

"You need to be rid of him, Mikey," Frank said in a much louder, much more rigid voice, standing up straighter off of the counter. Mikey's eyes grew wide. He was very nervous suddenly at the way Frank was acting. True, Frank was saying exactly what Mikey had been feeling for months, but it sounded so strange coming from another person. Mikey had only ever heard words of encouragement from Aniese, and she honestly was no help.

Mikey shook his head slowly, but he wasn't sure why. Three words bubbled and surfaced on his lips. "No," He muttered, heart pounding like mad, "I can't."

Frank obviously didn't like that. He clenched his fists up on the counter. "Do you love him, Mikey?" He asked rigidly, staring down at the man across the counter fiercely. Mikey couldn't remember the last time he felt so ashamed. Frank was asking him very, very important questions. Questions that could ultimately make a huge impact in his life. Mikey already knew the answer, but, somehow, it felt so strange to tell another person.

"No," Mikey answered certainly, "But I do care about him and his sister." And this was true. As much as Mikey hated it, as much as his inner monologues told him he hated Armando, he did not. He cared for Armando. If he didn't, he would have never left his muse the day before to loan a hundred dollars to Armando. Mikey wished he didn't. He wished with all his heart that he hated Armando like the scum of the Earth, but... Mikey knew he didn't.

This made Frank growl, actually growl. For a moment, Mikey thought it was Alabaster making that noise, but it was Frank, shaking his head across the bar. "You could do so much better," Frank hissed, folding his arms around his chest. Mikey decided to ignore that, and he lowered his head back towards his food, picking back up the half eaten bacon strip and taking a bite. 

It was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound being the soft noises of Mikey's chewing before Frank finally spoke up again. "Do you consider him your boyfriend?" Frank said, tilting his head slightly, the rigid growling gone from his voice, replaced with quiet curiosity.

Mikey's answer was much more immediate this time. He shook his head quickly, continuing to plow through the bacon Frank had made him. He didn't raise his head, but had he, Mikey would have seen a wide, excited smirk on Frank's pale face as he turned in a little circle, hands folded around his back. It was strange, but something about Mikey's reply had excited Frank very much.

After Mikey had finished the plate of delicious food that had been laid in front of him and wiped his mouth with a napkin, Frank finally turned and faced him, a smirk still on his pale face, and a glint of excitement echoing in his red eyes. "We should do something today," Frank said, tilting his head playfully.

"Yeah?" Mikey asked, raising his head and lifting an eyebrow. He felt a little lighter now getting that out, but only a little bit. It still felt like somebody had put a lead weight in his chest. It was hard to breath. "You aren't sick of me yet?" He wasn't sure if that was flirting, but it was pretty close.

"Of course not," Frank replied in a low, but still very joyful tone, chin tilted up towards the painter, and he laughed quietly, "I could never be sick of you, dear Mikey."

That somehow made Mikey smile just the slightest. He felt shy, so he lowered his eyes to the counter, heart beating fast like a rabbit. The way Frank cooed his name, watched him like art, made his heart melt. "What did you have in mind?" Mikey asked, peeking up at Frank. He felt like an awkward teenager with their first love.

"I hope you don't mind, but I would love to be painted today," Frank suggested, raising an eyebrow almost mischievously. Mikey could feel his entire body become wide awake when Frank did that. He had no idea if Frank realized how sexual in meaning that could be. He was basically saying that he would love to be naked. Mikey would love to be naked too. His heart was pounding, and Mikey had to rub his face to wipe away his immense shock.

"Er... I... Yeah! Yeah! That would be fun," Mikey's hands were sweating suddenly, and he suddenly felt the urge to get away even just for a minute, "I'm just gonna go change clothes." Frank replied with a simple smirk, and Mikey stood very quickly, turning and rushing up the spiral stairs, down the hall, into his bedroom.

Mikey felt like he was going to die by the time he got to his room. He paced up and down in front of his bed, hands shaking, as the realization of what was about to happen finally set in. He couldn't find the air in his lungs. The thought of his hands on Frank's bare body made him want to cry more now than ever. If it was true, the thoughts he had, perhaps he was already free from the title of boyfriend. Perhaps.

No. Mikey pushed that away, and he took a deep breath. That was wrong. His morals, he could feel them decaying. A wild rush of pain in his nose nearly knocked him over. He winced suddenly, rubbing his nose. It was then, standing there in his bedroom, that a realization hit Mikey. Why was he the only one with morals to follow, inner voices to decipher right from wrong, when every other human did whatever they pleased? Mikey had been pushing away his wants and desires for over a year to fill the needs of others. That wasn't right. Mikey's lips twitched.

He deserved to be happy.

"Fuck the consequences," Mikey mumbled, moving beside his bed where he phone had been sitting on the side table, "I'm going to do what I want." He realized that he was talking to himself. Mikey shook his head, picking up his phone. He knew he had to as much as he would regret it. The little square was glowing. Mikey frowned to himself and flipped it open. On the screen it read, "One New Voice-mail."

Mikey was honestly surprised to only see one. He had been expecting something closer to fifty or a hundred. Mikey hadn't really had any intentions to listen to the voice-mails, but this intrigued him. It was unlike Armando to not transform into the most possessive boyfriend of all time. Mikey decided, even though he knew he would regret it, to listen to the voice-mail.

Before long, the sounds of sobbing filled Mikey's right ear just as he had expected. This wasn't typical Armando sobbing though. This was real, pained, terrified sobs. Mikey felt his brow furrow as he listened and attempted to figure out the words mixed with the cries.

"I... I need you so bad right now Mikey," The recording began, "I just... I just had a fucking horrifying dream... There was a guy... And-And he came in my room t-through the window and bit me in my sleep." Mikey suddenly completely lost interest. This was the nightmare Armando had experienced the last time. "I feel so weak. I-I keep seeing b-black dots, and I c-can't stop shaking," He kept on sputtering, "I-I think it was real, Mikey. I think it was real."

Then, the recording ended on a dime. Mikey rolled his eyes, taking the phone away from his ear. This was so terribly like Armando. He'd done this before a ridiculous amount of times, and Mikey was so sick of being played like a broken record. He was done. Completely and entirely done.

Mikey closed his phone, laying it back on the bedside table before he turned away and walked back down the hall to the kitchen then down the other set of stairs to the basement. Half of his brain had forgotten about the other man in his home, and when Mikey stepped off the stairs and raised his head, he was nearly blown off of his feet.

His muse was entirely naked, seated on the sofa so seductively. His body was leaned against the right arm, his elbow on the arm of the white sofa, beautifully flawless hand resting on his cheekbone. His legs were curled beside him right leg beneath the left. The muse's eyes were sparkling just the tiniest bit, and when he saw Mikey was watching him, his lips curled into a smirk.

Mikey's face immediately turned bright red. Now, however, he didn't bother pushing away his desires. He let the dirty thoughts run through his mind, and excitement filled his body. Mikey found himself stepping closer to Frank, his entire being at the height of anticipation. He was not sure what he expected, but he knew whatever was to come was worth the consequences no matter how bad.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Mikey was before Frank, and his hands were on Frank's arm as if he had the notion of re-positioning Frank. Mikey watched his hands move along Frank's forearm ever so slowly, palms grazing across the porcelain white skin. He was so soft, yet so firm, and Mikey felt like he was going to pass out.

Mikey raised his gaze, and somehow, he felt the energy to meet Frank's beautiful, red eyes. Inside of Frank's lenses, there was a haze of something Mikey wasn't at all familiar with. Something soft... Something he wanted to grasp his arms around and hold until the end of his days. 

Mikey didn't know what he was doing. His feet lifted from the floor, and his body slid onto Frank's bare lap, sitting on his legs, either knee on each side of Frank. Frank seemed just as surprised, but his smirk only grew wider, and he stayed completely still. Mikey knew how incredibly out of line he must be, his hands running over Frank's firm shoulders, but he had no desire to move. Frank was freezing, but somehow, Mikey felt anything but cold.

"What are you doing there, Mikey?" Frank whispered, but he did not push Mikey away or move a single inch. 

"Just... Getting a better position for you," He improvised, his breathing shaky and rapid. That was obviously a lie, but Mikey couldn't think of anything better or more reasonable to say. Still, the half-hearted lie made Frank giggle softly. Mikey leaned back slightly so he could see all of Frank's face. He was coming onto Frank here on the sofa, sitting on his lap. This was finally happening. All the dreams and wishes he had longed for were finally here.

Mikey knew what he wanted. His eyelids pulled closed, and he moved his head towards Frank's ever so slowly. One sentence came to his lips and his chest pressed against Frank's naked skin. "I don't really feel like painting anymore," He muttered, his lips inches from Frank's.

Frank giggled again, and Mikey could feel a firm palm grip suddenly on the back of his head in his hair. "I suppose I have a better idea then," Frank growled, and he pressed Mikey closer to him. Mikey's lips were trembling with anticipation. His fingers around Frank's shoulders where shaking almost violently. He held his head there, waiting eagerly for the touch of soft lips, but they never came. Mikey opened his eyes to see Frank biting his lip and grinning slightly.

"The winter festival is in town, and it snowed last night. It's the most beautiful event all year" He whispered like it was so obvious, his hand moving away from Mikey's hair down his neck, flowing like a river, "Would you do me the honor of attending with me?"

Mikey's mouth dropped open. He could not believe what a loop Frank had thrown him through. He felt like a teased fool. Mikey closed his mouth, and he pulled himself off of Frank's lap, standing up sheepishly, feeling entirely humiliated. "Yeah... Yeah. I'll go with you," He muttered, running a hand through his hair and turning away because he couldn't stand to watch his muse grin anymore, "Just meet me in my car, okay?"

And then, Mikey stepped up the spiral stairs, his face glowing crimson with embarrassment. He could admit, however, he was impressed with what lengths Frank was willing to go through to drive a man insane.


	12. The Winter Festival Culmination

The snow was falling softly as Frank's black Mercedes stopped at the park. Mikey tugged his coat tighter against his chest and glanced over at Frank. His muse beside him was now fully dressed, adorn in a large white coat, a thick black scarf, and a hood over his head, as well as dark, round sunglasses and thick gloves. Frank's hand switched off the car, and he turned towards Mike, a soft smirk on his face.

"I still cannot believe you've never been to the Winter Festival before," Frank said as he opened his door and stepped into the cold. Mikey shrugged sheepishly, a small grin on his face as Frank rounded the front of the car and opened both Mikey's door and the door leading into the backseat where his ever-present husky bounded into the snow. Mikey stepped out too, watching as the excited husky played in the snow, burying his long snout in a snow drift, tail wagging wildly. "Alabaster, come here," Frank said, holding the red leash in his hands. The husky whined, pulling his face from the drift and then bound back to Frank, who leashed him up and then turned back to Mikey. There was a soft smirk on his face as he moved the leash to one hand and then reached for Mikey's.

Mikey wasn't so sure. His eyes flicked down to Frank's hand, and he could feel a warm sense of longing rush over him. Without allowing himself to worry any longer, Mikey moved forward, and he laced his fingers with Frank's. They were cold, even through the black gloves that Mikey wound his hand around. He could still feel the chill seeping from them like the feeling when you stand in the wake of an open freezer. Mikey dismissed that as the chill from the outside air and snow, and he averted his eyes to the ground.

"There's much to see," A soft, calm voice said, leaning closer to Mikey's left ear, "I'm sure you're curious." Mikey could feel his cheeks rush with a bright burst of pink, and his lips curled at the ends into a modest smile. There was much he wanted to see, but none of it was here. He nodded his head, grinning softly, and he squeezed Frank's hand as a reply.

Gently, Frank pulled him and his dog along through the snow-covered park. Children darted through the drifts, bundled in thick coats and tossing snowballs. Off in the distance, there was an ice skating rink, couples holding hands guiding each other along the frozen ground. There were stands to have your face painted, booths that smelled of cinnamon and hot chocolate, and hiding spots to have snowball fights. As much as Mikey was beginning to hate winter, he was in awe. It was beautiful to say the least, and for once, he wasn't talking about Frank.

Despite how safe he felt with Frank, Mikey's aching nose reminded him of the truth. He was still immensely shook up about what had happened recently with Armando. The memories still clung in the back of his mind. Somewhere, deep down, Mikey kind of knew he wouldn't even be able to look at Armando the same way again. Nor did he want to. 

Frank must have been able to sense Mikey's unease. He was so delicate and soft with Mikey, speaking in only whispers and incredibly light touches. His fingers would graze along the painter's pristine cheek as they stood beside the frozen pond, strolling towards one of the food stands. Mikey had been watching his feet, but a sudden bought of bravery caused him to raise his eyes to Frank. Frank was looking out across the park, watching a few children toss snowballs at each other, laughing wildly just as children do.

Frank must have noticed Mikey watching him. His lips curled up into a tiny smile. "Would you ever have children, Mikey?" Frank asked calmly, his eyes behind the thick sunglasses never straying from the playing children.

This surprised Mikey. He looked away back towards the ground as he kicked his boots through the snow. "I don't know," Mikey mumbled. He had never really thought about that before. There had never been a reason. Mikey rubbed the back of his shivering neck with his free hand, considering his answer. "I... I wouldn't be a very good father," He muttered, belittling himself because there was no real reason. 

"Nonsense," Frank said, his hand growing tighter around Mikey's as they neared the stand. "You would be an excellent father. You're caring, sweet, and..." Frank seemed to chuckle to himself, stepping a bit closer to Mikey as they drew even closer to the stand, "I am completely certain you would be a good father."

Mikey could feel himself blush even more, his eyes on his shoes. "I mean," Mikey replied, and he could feel his heart in his chest, "Maybe... If... If I ever had anybody to be there with me. I couldn't do it alone." Mikey couldn't even take care of himself alone. Why would that be any different with the addition of a child?

"So, should I stop picking out names for our future offspring?" Frank asked as they stood in front of the stand. Mikey was completely thrown off guard as Frank began to laugh, pulling his hand away from Mikey's ever so softly, passing off their discussion as a joke, but Mikey wasn't so sure it had started off like a joke. In a way, Mikey wanted to scream a denial, that Frank should continue, that he wanted to be with Frank, but he swallowed that and stepped up to the stand.

"I'll buy you anything you want from here," Frank said, pulling a thick, black wallet from his back pocket. Mikey began to deny Frank's request, shaking his head slowly, but Frank was adamant. His lips curled into a wider smirk, raising his eyebrows. "No, no, Mikey. Please. You let me stay at your home last night. A simple treat is the absolute least I could do," Frank intervened, laughing quietly.

Mikey knew he couldn't tell Frank no. Especially not with a smile like that. He could feel himself ease up, and his heart began to melt. Frank's smile was reflected on his face, and he lowered his eyes to his shoes, feeling rather foolish. "A... A hot chocolate would be nice," Mikey mumbled awkwardly.

Frank replied with a very soft smile, and then, he pulled away, turning towards the stand and opening his wallet. "One hot chocolate, please," Frank said to the man at the stand and reaching inside his wallet. Even though Mikey knew he shouldn't, he peeked inside Frank's wallet, curious to see the amount of money he was carrying. Mikey wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting, but he was blown away.

To put it this way, the smallest bill Frank was carrying was a fifty, and there was only one of those. The rest were legitimate, real one hundred dollar bills. In retrospect, Mikey knew Frank was wealthy, but he hadn't actually comprehended how much. Frank was a doctor, of course he would be wealthy. At that instant, the memories of his childhood when money was abundant and nobody worried returned to his mind.

Oh, how he missed those days.

"Here you go, darling," Frank said softly, and Mikey's eyes jerked down to his hand where a little Styrofoam container with little tufts of steam rising out of it was residing in his grips. Mikey could feel himself smile even more as he took the hot chocolate.

"God. Thanks," He said quietly, basically at a loss for words as he took the cup from Frank and took a hesitant sip. It was the most delicious hot chocolate he had ever drank in his life. He couldn't remember the last time somebody had done something genuinely selfless and nice for him. That must have been obvious in the way his lips were trembling. A soft, gloved hand ran its fingers along his cheek, and Mikey raised his eyes to the man beside him.

"We should sit down somewhere," Frank suggested softly, and his hand moved down to Mikey's again. He wound his hand around Mikey's, and he pulled ever so gently away from the stand a few feet away to a black metal bench over looking the frozen pond. Frank swept his hands over the bench wiping away the snow, and the two sat down beside each other, shoulder to shoulder, touching.

Frank's hand found Mikey's again, but Mikey pulled himself closer, wrapping the doctor's arm around his shoulder and snuggling beneath it even though this brought no warmth. The hot chocolate consolidated enough for that anyway. Frank seemed surprised by this, his head turning towards Mikey's, and he smirked a bit more, tightening his grip around Mikey's shoulders, but he didn't say a word.

Mikey's lips were trembling, and he knew he was close to tears just because Frank was watching him. It was so immensely clear to Mikey, and it had been for so long. He couldn't deny it any longer. The hot chocolate in his hand was shaking, and he was scared to spill it, but admittedly, Mikey was blind to the world. He couldn't breath. At that moment, Mikey was reminded of the powerful and beautiful lake he had seen from Frank's living room, the undertow that could kill a full grown man, ripping him beneath the currents when there was absolutely no warning at all. The absolute energy and force. The sudden rush of emotions and catharsis. The panic and completely futile attempts to escape when it was already so certain it was a lost cause. 

He realized as he sat there that was exactly what it was like to fall in love with Frank Iero. Uncertain and hesitant and then a complete and total riptide.

The snow began to fall again ever so lightly on the two. Mikey knew the line between what he wanted and what he had in life was becoming so defined so quickly. There needed to be a choice made now. He couldn't continue doing this to Frank who clearly had feelings for him. There needed to be a decision made now. Mikey could feel his whole body shaking as he raised his head and stared across the lake.

"I... I'm thinking about leaving Armando," Mikey muttered. It was barely a sentence, barely audibly, but it had been said. Years of wasted time finally leaving his system. The sentence he had been longing to say since his relationship was a reality, finally out of his lips. It was out. It was finally over.

Frank smirked more, and he tightened his arm around Mikey's shoulders. "I thought you already had," Frank said softly, leaning slightly closer to Mikey whom only shook more.

Mikey could feel his face turn red. Frank was right, he supposed. He wouldn't be doing this if he knew Mikey was still involved with Armando... Right? "I mean... I don't know," Mikey admitted ashamedly, "I... I guess I've been emotionally broken up with him since I first saw you... Naked." And he had said it. Mikey felt like he was going to pass out.

This made Frank laugh. He pressed his free hand over his lips and chuckled, rolling back his head. "Oh dear!" He exclaimed when he was finished, lowering his head and looking back out at the lake, "I'm a homewrecker!" He was joking obviously, but somehow, the statement struck Mikey. He could feel the little composure he had left slip away. 

"Actually..." Mikey muttered, staring down at his hot chocolate in his hand, his voice trembling, "You can't wreck something that's already broken." As much as it pained Mikey, he knew that was true. He was broken, he knew that. His spirit had been destroyed, his will to live, his love of life. It had all been ruined.

"Oh, dear," The doctor whispered, and he turned towards the painter. Mikey could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Frank's eyes fell on him. Soft, gloved fingers ran over his cheek, and Mikey felt like he was going to pass out, a blush surfacing across his face. "You're not broken," The man whispered, tightening his grip around the painter, "You're far from broken, Mikey. Far from broken."

Mikey's lips began to tremble. He still was not used to how softly Frank touched him. This was nice. This was incredibly nice. Mikey couldn't think of much to say. His mind was elsewhere. "You don't know that, Frank," Mikey mumbled, shaking his head slowly. He felt like he was close to tears.

Frank's smoldering smirk grew even more wide. He turned fully to Mikey now and took the man's cheek ever so softly in his hand. "Oh, Michael," Frank whispered softly, "I do know."

The muse began to lean closer then. His eyes were closed softly, and his arm tightened around Mikey, lips slightly parted. With his heart racing faster than it ever had in his life, Mikey pulled his eyes shut as well and leaned forward suddenly, pushing his lips against Frank's running one of his hands up onto the side of Frank's face. Even though it felt dirty, Mikey had never been more sure of anything in his life. 

Their lips met with a sudden burst of electricity that shook through their entire bodies. Hands tightened around backs, teeth nearly gnashed together, the repressed urges and lusts of many days past finally came to a head. Mikey couldn't believe it was happening. He ran his lips along Frank's, breathing very heavily. This was unlike any kiss he had ever encountered. It was loving and powerful and deep and sincere. Mikey had never felt this way before in his existence, and he already loved it so much more than he could describe.

Frank pulled away first, apparently determining that their kiss was too much to be doing in public. Mikey unwillingly pulled himself away, holding onto Frank's lips with his for a moment because he didn't wish to let go. When he opened his eyes again, Mikey was surprised to find them full of tears. He was nearly crying. 

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Frank whispered, and he too opened his eyes from behind the terribly big sunglasses. Mikey was close enough that he could see the shock in Frank's eyes from behind the lenses. Frank raised one hand gently and brushed Mikey's blonde hair back, his lips curling into a tiny smile, "Don't cry, beautiful. No tears."

Before Mikey knew what he was even saying, almost like it wasn't even his own will, he was speaking, words falling out of his mouth into the one sentence that had been lurking in the darkest part of his brain for some time now. "Frank," Mikey sputtered, his lips shaking, "I'm in love with you."

Immediately, that stupid, coy smile that Mikey loved more than anything spread itself across Frank's thin lips. He leaned closer to Mikey, and Mikey could see into his mouth, the razor sharp, white teeth inside a black hole. "Oh, believe me," Frank whispered, "I know."

The next thing Mikey knew, they were kissing again. Frank's tongue was inside his mouth, running across his teeth. Mikey wanted to do the same, but he was afraid his tongue would come back bloody. Frank pulled him closer, nearly into his lap. It was intensely wonderful. Their noses brushed against each other's, and their hands tightened. Mikey could place it as one of the best moments of his entire life.

This time, however, when Frank pulled away, there was no smirk on his face. He was the epitome of seriousness, and his hands loosened around Mikey. An instant wave of worry washed over the painter as he watched his new love look over him with sudden rockiness. "I have something I must tell you that is crucial to our relationship, Mikey," The doctor said calmly, stroking his hand across Mikey's back, "All I ask is that you listen to me, that you give me a chance." Mikey wasn't sure what to say. He felt a little like throwing up, honestly. What secret could Frank possibly be hiding? "Please, Mikey," Frank nearly begged, "Please... All I ask is that no matter how much it scares you, you stay beside my side because I have never felt like this for anybody before."

The change in the mood was so sudden and immediate that Mikey didn't even know how to properly respond. Some part of his mind reflected that everything was too perfect for too long, too long being about thirty minutes. Mikey had no idea why God hated him so much to constantly throw him through loops. He had no idea what Frank was going to tell him or how bad it was going to really be. A million different thoughts ran through his head, each one as bad as the last, about what his secret could possibly be.

Even though a part of Mikey wished he could get up and run away, he did not. He could not. Mikey nodded his head rigidly, unsure of what it was that he had gotten himself into. This made Frank smile that stupid little smile again as he took Mikey's hand softly like nothing ominous at all had just happened. "Are you cold, Sweetie? Your hands are icicles," Frank whispered, smiling as he ran his even colder hands over Mikey's like that would somehow warm them up.

Mikey was still in shock. He swallowed the hard rock of regret in his throat and nodded his head. This made Frank's permanent smirk grow wider, and he tugged on Mikey's hand. "Come along then. We can go back to your house," He said as he stood, pulling Mikey up with him. Mikey watched, almost in a haze as Frank collected the dog's leash from where he had wrapped it around the bench, however, Mikey couldn't remember at all when Frank had tied him up there.

Frank then stood back upright, smiled towards Mikey, and took his hand, pulling Mikey gently away from the bench, around the lake, towards where their car sat stationary. Mikey began to think as he walked that no matter what Frank's big, impending secret was, he was already completely engulfed inside this black hole Frank had created. That was terrifying. The amount of power Frank had over Mikey simply by touching him was extraordinary, and Mikey knew that he would always fall into Frank's little love trap.

For better or for worse, Mikey began to realize, he had no choice.


	13. The Secret

The black Mercedes pulled to a stop in the snowy driveway outside Mikey's home. The tension between the two was thick. Nobody had dared to say a single word the entire drive home. The silence was only broken by a few whines from the husky in the backseat, whom shoved his head into Mikey's elbow, clearly jealous of the painter's closeness to his master. However, Mikey didn't even notice the dog. His eyes stared blankly ahead out the front windshield worriedly.

Frank's words circled in his head in never-ending loops. What on earth could the doctor be hiding? Granted, he was mysterious. Mikey didn't know a single thing about the man's life, except that he lived along, was gay, a doctor, and extremely allergic to... Something. The possibilities of whatever strange secret he had were eating a hole of anxiety in the pit of Mikey's stomach, each one as unlikely and terrifying as the last.

Mikey still told himself again and again that no matter what his secret was, it wouldn't change his feelings for the doctor. Mikey loved him. Perhaps it was deep loneliness, but something told Mikey his emotions for Frank weren't changing any second too soon.

Frank turned the engine off. The doctor turned his head towards the man beside him and smiled softly behind his large, round sunglasses. "You're shivering, dear," He whispered like nothing at all was wrong with what was about to happen. Mikey turned towards Frank beside him, his eyesbrows raised slightly, but he said nothing. What was there to be said? Frank reached across the console and patted Mikey's knees, which caused sparks to shoot through his body, "We should go inside. Come along."

With that, the doctor opened his door and stepped out. Mikey followed, stepping into the cold and shutting his door behind himself as he folded his hands into his pockets. Little shots of steam ran from each of his nostrils, momentarily clouding his thick glasses as he watched Frank moved to the other door and release Alabaster who took off into the snow, barking excitedly. Frank whistled twice, and the husky returned, proudly trotting beside Frank who was walking up towards the door.

Frank stopped a few feet ahead, turning over his shoulder to see the stationary Mikey standing beside the fancy car, knees shaking. The ever-present 'smug bastard' smirk was shining on his lips as his eyes fell on the painter. Even through the sunglasses, Mikey could see the longing reflecting in his lenses. It made him weak.

"Aren't you coming?" The man said in a calm voice, holding out his hand smoothly.

Mikey knew he couldn't say no. His legs led himself to the pale man, and his fingers, as if something else was controlling them, grasped Frank's. Frank's smirk grew, and he tugged Mikey up to his front door. After several minutes or removing layers and shaking off snow, Frank continued leading Mikey, much to the painter's surprise, to Mikey's master bedroom. Mikey instantly felt more nervous as he watched Frank seat himself on the edge of Mikey's bed and kick off his shoes.

"I hope you don't mind us talking here," He spoke as he pulled his legs onto the bed. His red irises flicked up to the confused man, "It's just more comfortable."

That made absolutely no sense to Mikey, but he shook his head, moving to the other side of the bed and sitting down as well. "It's fine," He muttered, kicking off his shoes and sitting back against the headboard beside Frank, "I don't mind."

From where he sat, Mikey could see the husky nudge his nose into the room and then bumble in, laying down at the edge of the bed and sighing. Frank wrapped his arm around Mikey's shoulders softly, running his fingers over the man's shoulders. Mikey felt slightly calmer, and he laid his head on Frank's shoulder. Still, he could not banish the ever present sick feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Something awful was going to happen.

"I suppose I cannot stall any longer," The soft, calm voice whispered, scooting away from the headboard. Frank moved in front of Mikey, removing his arm, moving his hands down to Mikey's. Mikey felt like he was going to vomit. He couldn't even look up at Frank's face. He had to focus on the green bed sheets, his heart pounding in his ears. "There is... Something I must tell you now before we become any closer," He said, his cold thumb tracing over Mikey's hands, "Something... That may hurt you, my dear."

Mikey couldn't stand this. "Just tell me," He nearly snapped. He lifted his head for barely a second to meet Frank's red eyes, which were hazed with worry, "Just... Tell me."

It was silent for a moment, and Frank's thumb stopped moving across his palm. Mikey didn't dare speak. He knew Frank was collecting his thoughts for this confession, whatever it could possibly be.

"I... I did not wish to make it known to you, Mikey, and... Perhaps when I tell you, you will not even believe me," There was a pause, and Mikey could hear the pain inside his voice, "And... I respect that, Mikey... I would not believe myself either... If the man I loved told me this.... But-But... I promise, Mikey. I would never lie to you. I trust you, my dear."

Mikey couldn't breath. There was nothing to say. He only nodded his head.

There was another heart-wrenching moment of silence. Mikey wanted to scream to break it. He wanted to get up and run away to avoid every godforsaken word that would fall from Frank's lips that would only drag him farther into the dark, endless lake. He wanted to burst into tears. Mikey didn't do any of those.

"I... I have not been entirely honest with you, or anybody, for that matter. But... It has to be that way... For my safety," He began, his words barely a whisper. Frank paused for a minute, and he raised his hand, moving it to Mikey's cheek. "I wish I could just tell you, Mikey, but I cannot. I fear you won't believe me," He said in a terribly hurt, pained tone.

"You don't know that," Mikey muttered, somehow finding the meek sentence amidst his cowardice.

"But I do," Frank replied quickly, leaning closer to Mikey, his words becoming more frantic. "I have tried before, Mikey, to tell people in other towns at other times, and they screamed... They ran... The called me insane," There almost seemed to be tears in Frank's usually so calm eyes, "I do not want you to think of me as a maniac, Mikey."

"I... I won't," Mikey whispered uncertainly.

"But you need to promise me," Frank said frantically, his hands tightening around Mikey's cheeks. Mikey suddenly felt slightly panicked.

"I... I promise," Mikey replied, and he moved his hands to his cheeks, pulling Frank's hands away, "Okay? I promise. Please... Just tell me." He watched Frank's face haze again with worry as he watched Mikey move their hands to his lap, and Mikey ran his fingers over them.

Frank nodded his head and closed his eyes. His lip was trembling terribly, and his hands were shaking. "I.. I suppose you have probably noticed how cold I am... And... And my teeth," Frank whispered, and he opened his red eyes, darting them up to Mikey's, "And my eyes."

Mikey had indeed noticed them. His heart pounded as he nodded his head.

"I do not know what you thought of them prior to now... Or how you did not know up until now... Perhaps you do know, Mikey. You're such a smart man," There were tears in Frank's eyes as they studied Mikey's inquisitive, curious, and slightly frightened face, "And it hurts me that I even have to tell you..."

Mikey just stared at him.

"Mikey," Frank whispered, his hands tensing around the painter's, "I am, in fact, a vampire."

Mikey couldn't believe this. He tore his hands away immediately.

"Are you fucking with me?" He asked suddenly, holding his hands in the air. He couldn't believe he had just sat through ten minutes of tip-toeing around a massive joke. He wasn't even embarrassed that he had just cursed in front of Frank.

Frank was immediately taken aback by this. His eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. "I warned you, Mikey. I told you that you would not believe me," The doctor held up his hands as well to show he meant absolutely no harm, "Please! Allow me to explain!'

Mikey stared at him for a minute. There was pain and worry and sadness in his eyes... His... red eyes. Mikey allowed his hands to drop. "Fine," He muttered, raising one eyebrow.

Frank seemed relieved by this, but he didn't reach for Mikey's hands again. He took a breath before he spoke softly. "I... I was born in a time much different than this, years and years ago. How many? I am unsure. Time has blurred itself as the world changed, and I have stayed exactly as you see me now. My creation is unknown to me. I am originally from France, but I do not know when I fled there and came here, before or after my change," Frank's eyes fell down onto his hands. "I do know the person who changed me was a man. I do not remember when. I do not remember where. I just remember teeth in my neck, and the world growing dark," Frank shook his head, raising his eyes back up to Mikey, "But perhaps that was a dream. Perhaps I have been around forever. I do not know."

Mikey only watched him, and he didn't say a word.

"I do know the history of my people, however. We are a proud race, but we must remain hidden. Humans have always fears us, like a disease, but we are just like you. They have nearly wiped us from existance many, many times, and today, only several hundred of my race remain across the world," He said calmly, studying Mikey's face. "We live for much longer than humans. How long is but unknown. The oldest of us has been alive since the first days of civilization, so we presume that we never die," Frank moved his hand forward and brush back Mikey's blonde hair.

Mikey still said nothing.

"I do love what I am," Frank whispered, his fingers staying on Mikey's cheekbone. "I am proud of my abilities and my race, even though I must hide it from society. They would not understand, even today," He sighed and watched Mikey's worried eyes, "I do burn in the sun, which is why I wear such heavy clothing. I do drink blood, but... It's all I have ever known, and I see nothing wrong with it. I have self control."

Mikey's eyes suddenly flicked up to Frank's as the memory of the day Armando had to be rushed to the hospital. The 'spider' bite. "You bit Armando," Mikey suddenly accused, his eyebrow twitching.

"I did it because he was hurting you, Mikey. I drink the blood of terrible people. People the world would not miss if I... Slipped... The terrible and dying people. People who need punishment and relief," Frank could see the growing terror on Mikey's face, "Not somebody like you! Especially not you!"

Mikey was so incredibly shocked, his mouth open. He backed away from Frank until his back was against the headboard and watched the man across from him, his heart pounding. He was reminded of the panicked voicemails on his phone this morning. Armando.

"Did you go to Armando last night?" Mikey whispered even though he knew he didn't want to know the answer. The night Frank was supposed to be caring for him. The night they supposedly spent together.

"I did," Frank answered certainly.

Mikey didn't say anything. He could only stare.

"He deserved it, Mikey! After what he did to you!" Frank hissed defensively.

"You could have killed him!" Mikey retorted suddenly, a wave of fear washing over his body as he shook his head.

"I could kill him any time I wanted!" Frank suddenly snapped, his fists clenching again, "If he touches you again, I will kill him!"

Mikey had never heard Frank talk like that. It dug fear into his heart, so he turned away, his side towards Frank, and he faced off the side of the bed, resting his head on his knees. The painter did not even know what to think, or even if he believed it entirely. Sure, there was enough proof, and somehow, Mikey knew Frank wasn't lying. Every part of Mikey just didn't wish to believe it.

After several minutes where the only sound was Mikey's alarm clock ticking, Frank moved towards the man and wrapped his arms around Mikey's back. Mikey didn't move away. He stayed completely still, his morose eyes on the floor as Frank wrapped himself around the painter, "Do you understand, my dear? Do you believe me?" His voice was so soft and calm. Mikey knew he couldn't deny it. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't.

Mikey nodded slowly.

Frank's hands moved along Mikey's arms, his head on Mikey's shoulder. "Do you still love me?" He whispered.

Mikey wanted to say no. He wanted to run away. Mikey knew he couldn't. He was too weak. Again, Mikey somehow found his head nodding even though that was the opposite of what he wished to be doing.

"You're the first human who I have ever loved," He hummed, brushing his hand through Mikey's blonde hair. Mikey could feel a burst of sudden and short happiness. He turned back towards Frank, his eyes wide, heart racing faster than he knew what was possible.

"Really?" He barely muttered. Mikey felt like there was no more air in the room.

"Yes, darling," Frank said softly, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Mikey's jaw and cheek for barely a second, causing a sigh of relief from the skinny painter. Frank moved back, a soft, coy smile on his face. "You're the most beautiful human being I have ever laid my eyes on, Michael James Way. So beautiful... So tragic," He leaned forward again and pressed his lips against Mikey's, "I love you."

Mikey felt incredibly elated to hear that. His worries and fears, despite how rational they were, faded away, and he began to smile too. Hearing that come from Frank's lips seemed to make everything feel better. Mikey began to realize he didn't care if Frank was... A vampire, as strange as that was. He loved Frank.

Still, some part of Mikey's brain was screaming about how terrifying that was. He had just threatened to kill Armando. It was sinister, the words he had said. Yet, Mikey was so overwhelmingly happy, he didn't care. Even though... He should have.

Mikey had questions. He tilted his head watching his gorgeous love's face and frowning. "I'm curious," Mikey whispered, and Frank tilted his head as well, "Can you bite somebody without turning them human?" I mean, it would make sense. Armando hadn't exactly grown fangs.

"I can," Frank said, almost proudly, "I have completely honed my self control. I have never accidentally bled somebody completely dry." Mikey watched as Frank moved his hand to the painter's cheek and trailed the very tips over his fingers over it. "Some nights, like in the evening, it's incredibly hard for me to control myself, like the night you cut your finger, so I had to leave," Frank seemed slightly ashamed by that. He lowered his eyes, "I did not wish to harm you. I had to get away."

Mikey remembered the dog barking right after the knife had met his finger. "Your dog... Alabaster," Mikey began, looking over his shoulder and the pile of white and gray fur on the floor, "He can smell blood, can't he?"

"Very smart!" Frank replied, and he leaned forward, kissing Mikey's cheek as a prize. "I trained him myself. He makes going into crowded areas like the park or anywhere else much, much easier. He never knows it before I do, but he helps bring me back to reality," Frank seemed to smile even more as he watched Mikey stare at him in awe.

Mikey could remember the day in the hospital. Frank had stuck the syringe full of blue liquid into Armando. "What do you do for the people who come into the hospital?" Mikey asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I treat them with a weak muscle relaxant and something to make them drowsy and sleep it off," Frank's smile turned into more of a smirk as the thoughts came back to him, "They seem to always... Ah... Forget."

That seemed disgusting to Mikey, but he was able to turn that off in his brain. It didn't matter. Frank needed to stay alive, didn't he? "Are you thirty right now?" Mikey asked, even though he was sure he knew the answer.

Frank's smirk seemed to fade away. The doctor's eyebrows furrowed, "I always am."

Mikey suddenly grew nervous. He didn't know what to say, but the idea of Frank suffering seemed awful to him. He had to do something. "Can I help in any way?" Mikey asked curiously.

"Absolutely not!" Frank said quickly, taking his hands away from Mikey and shaking his head. "No, Mikey. No. I cannot do that," He whispered frantically, "I do not wish to hurt you."

But that was exactly what Mikey wanted. He reached forward and grabbed Frank's shoulders. There just seemed something incredibly sexy about satisfying Frank this way. Maybe that was messed up, but Mikey wanted this so badly. "I just want to know what it feels like, Frank," Mikey nearly begged. His eyes were full of wanting. "I love you so much. I trust you," Mikey wanted those fangs in his neck so badly. It had been so long since he'd wanted something this badly.

Frank seemed extremely nervous. As he watched Mikey basically offer himself as a meal, his eyes completely dialated, and his body started to shake. Mikey knew he couldn't say no. He was in for it. "I would never do this to you if you hadn't asked me before," Frank whispered in a forced, harsh tone.

"I know," Mikey replied softly, and his heart was pounding. There was no turning back now.

"Lie down," Frank commanded, clenching and unclenching his fists again and again like he was trying to either turn on or turn off his thirst. Mikey did as he was told, laying back in his bed, his entire body flooded with slight fear and a lot of excitement and anticipation. It was wrong, but Mikey wanted it so badly.

Frank moved down in front of him and sat up on his knees, gazing over Mikey's body with a sort of satisfaction. His offering. Frank suddenly began to smirk, and it was unlike any smirk that Mikey had ever seen. It was almost evil. Chills shook the painter's body, but he didn't dare move.

Mikey watched from where he laid on the bed as both of Frank's hands moved up to his own jaw. his mouth opened as wide as he possibly could, and Mikey could see the perfect, white, razor-sharp teeth. He could feel his excitement suddenly skyrocket. This was really, really happening. Frank gripped either side of his jaw with his hands. There was a loud, jarring snapping noise, and Mikey couldn't believe what he had just seen.

Frank had just detatched his jaw, like a viper. He stood on his knees in front of Mikey, his mouth opened un-naturally wide, light reflecting off of his fangs, and he began to move towards the painter. Mikey wanted to scream for help. He wanted to call 911, but he couldn't. Any shred of doubt Mikey had was completely gone. He was paralyzed as Frank moved next to his neck and sank his teeth into Mikey's pale skin.

It stung, but only for a split second. Mikey cried out, his head rolling back, arms tensing. The dog on the floor suddenly jerked to life and began barking and howling. It ran over to the side of the bed and hopped two legs up, watching his master bite the painter. It began to bark even louder, hopping off and running from one end of the room to the other frantically.

Mikey was terrified suddenly. This wasn't at all what he imagined it would be. It didn't feel right. Something just did not feel right. He tried to break away, but that only caused Frank to dig his fangs in deep and the sound of sucking to grow louder. The doctor's hands moved from beside Mikey's head and grabbed the painter around his shoulders, and held him in place. Mikey couldn't breath, he was so scared. The dog was going insane.

"F-Frank! Frank! Stop!" Mikey begged, tears of terror running down his cheeks. He tried pushing on Frank's chest, but the man didn't move, and his arms only grew tighter. Mikey was growing even more scared. Frank was going to bleed him dry. Frank was going to suck up every last cell. "FRANK!" Mikey nearly screamed, pushing harder. Frank wouldn't let go, and every time Mikey pushed, he dug his fangs deeper, and caused Mikey more pain.

Finally, Mikey realized it would just be best to wait. He stopped fighting, letting the tears run down his face, and for the last thirty seconds, the dog howling and the sucking was the only noise. 

Frank did not bleed him dry. He pulled out of Mikey's neck with a sick squishing noise, his hands moving back to his jaw as he sat up. Mikey watched as Frank's hands moved to his now red jaw, and he cracked it back into place. His eyes were completely dialated. There was no red inside the lenses. Only black. Then, he only sat there, watching the tears roll down Mikey's face. The dog wouldn't stop howling. Frank snapped his head towards the husky, "Alabaster!"

The dog whined once more and then sank onto the floor. And then... There was only silence.

Mikey was so scared, he was shaking. He was weak, tired. Mikey didn't even feel that he could lift his arm. Tears were still running down his face, his lips trembling. "I never want to do that again," Mikey whispered, a hand moving to his aching neck. He could feel the two holes in his skin. Frank wiped his bloody mouth on a handkerchief from inside his pants pocket, and he moved beside Mikey.

"I will never make you. Know that," Frank wrapped his arms around Mikey. "I know it does not feel good, but... I feel so much better," He kissed Mikey's back, "Thank you."

Mikey turned towards Frank, laying on his hands. "Of course... I... I'd do anything for you," Mikey knew if a time came when he had to offer his neck again for Frank, he would. In a heart beat. Frank smiled softly and kissed the painter so softly, it made Mikey even more weak.

"You should sleep for a while, Love," Frank whispered, and he moved his index finger over the two holes in Mikey's neck. Mikey felt himself shiver. "You will not feel as weak when you wake," He moved his lips over Mikey's cheek.

Mikey smiled softly and pulled his legs under the covers. Sleep did sound fantastic. "Will you be here when I wake up?" He asked quietly, laying on his pillow and raising his eyes.

"Of course," Frank whispered, watching as Mikey closed his eyes, "Goodnight, darling." Mikey could feel himself drifting off. His heart rate began to slow as he felt two, strong arms curve around him and pull him closer. Mikey fell asleep fairly quickly, like the bite had turned off his brain, but just before Mikey fell into the void of sleep, he could feel the cold body pull away and the door to his bedroom open and then close, almost soundlessly.


	14. Intimacy

Mikey awoke with a start several hours later when the moon was high over his home. The cause of his sudden surprise was the door at the end of his bedroom being pushed open with a squeak from the aging door frame. Mikey sat up, panting and gasping, rubbing his eyes. The sound had pulled him away from a terrifying nightmare that he could not remember, only that he had been very, very scared.

His eyes adjusted to the vague darkness as he pulled his palms away. There was a figure in the doorway, dark and silhouetted. Mikey was suddenly terrified. His heart pounded as he backed himself against the headboard.

"Mikey?" A soft voice whispered. The figure moved closer into the white light streaming in the window illuminating from the moon. Mikey's panic vanished as his eyes fell on Frank. His heart rate slowed drastically, and his clenched hands suddenly loosened. He let out a soft gasp, moving his hands to his face as the doctor stepped closer and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Mikey. "Are you quite alright, darling?" He whispered, pressing his hand over where Mikey's knees were hidden under the blankets. There was an immense amount of concern in his face, eyebrows furrowed, "You're trembling."

Mikey caught his breath, shaking his head. "Nightmares," He mumbled, raising his eyes with a false smile. Mikey ran his eyes over the man beside him for a moment. His clothes were changed, Mikey noticed, and his eyes were fully dialated. Mikey could feel the worry surface in his face as he looked his lover over, "Where... Where did you go?" It was clear he had been out somewhere. Mikey knew he had probably been feeding, but the reality of that hurt him too much.

Frank seemed taken aback by this. He blinked, his back stiffening as he looked over the man. His brow furrowed slightly, and he shook his head. "Nowhere, darling. I took a short walk," Frank whispered, running his hand over where Mikey's leg was under the blanket. Mikey could not help but think about how absurd that was. It was the middle of winter. There were inches of snow on the ground.

But, Mikey did not want to know the truth, so he pushed it away as Frank crawled into the bed beside him, wiping his lips as he crawled under the covers. Mikey could feel the cold seeping from the man as he made himself comfortable between blankets beside Mikey.

Within seconds, Frank had the smaller male in his arms against his chest. The doctor pressed his lips against Mikey's forehead and cheek several times. His lips were freezing against Mikey's slightly warm skin, and the painter could not help but to squirm slightly. This made Frank laugh softly as he ran his fingers down Mikey's sides, loosening his grip as the painter turned to face him. The moonlight was stretched across the two serenely, and Frank seemed to glow like an angel.

Frank was smirking as he ran his fingers along Mikey's side. "How did you sleep, darling?"

Mikey remembered the nightmare he had just awoken from. The panic. He could not remember the dream exactly, only that he had been scared. Mikey shook his head, watching Frank's face. "I'm still weak," He whispered, deciding not to say anything about his dream. Frank probably would not care anyway.

"Aw, Darling," Frank said with a smile as he ran his hand back up to Mikey's cheek. "That is sadly normal, but you will return to normal soon," He moved closer and pressed his lips against Mikey's very, very softly. Mikey suddenly seemed to feel much better. He began to smile in the kiss. That felt so nice, a sensation Mikey was not used to at all. He pressed his lips harder against Frank's, whimpering softly. Frank must have heard the whimper because he pulled away, a look of slight concern mixed with sly amusement on his face. "What was that, love?" He asked softly, "Did I hurt you?"

Mikey began to smile. He could not remember a time anybody had ever asked him that. "No, no, of course not," He said, holding himself up on the elbow he was laying on. He chuckled softly and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Frank's cold face. He could feel Frank smile as he pressed his body against the doctor's. "I really... I really love you, Frank," Mikey whispered, his nose against Frank's cheek.

Frank laughed softly, and he pulled Mikey against his chest and rolled onto his back so Mikey was on top of him. "I love you too, darling," He said quietly, kissing Mikey's cheeks as his arms tightened around the man. Mikey had never felt so safe in his life. He could feel his heart pounding against Frank's body, and that only made him smile even more. 

It was quiet for some time after that. They laid there together, Frank's arms tight around Mikey's back, silence surrounding them like the blankets over their bodies. Frank would run his fingers over Mikey's spine occasionally, but other than that, they were still. Mikey was nearly falling asleep again when Frank spoke softly.

"Be mine forever, Mikey."

This made Mikey suddenly jerk back to fully awake. His eyes shot open, and he looked up towards Frank's face. For a moment, he was half expecting the man to have a ring or something because that was what the context of the previous sentence had sounded like. However, when Mikey's eyes fell on the doctor's face, he knew that was not at all what Frank was meaning.

"No... No, Frank," Mikey pulled away gently and laid back beside Frank, turning on his side so he could see the doctor, leaning up on his arm. "I... I don't want to live forever," He whispered.

Frank, still laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and let out a loud, exasperated sigh. "Darling," He said as he sat up, turning towards Mikey, "I will watch you grow old, my love. I will be forced to watch you waste away while I stay forever young." There was a sense of urgency in the way he said this, like Mikey was on his deathbed right in front of him.

Mikey could feel his eyebrow beginning to twitch as he watched Frank sit there. It was so incredibly obvious what Frank wanted, and the anxiety of that was beginning to eat away at him. Mikey thought for a moment of what it would be like, living forever, hurting people in order to receive nourishment. Mikey had no desire to be like Frank. He shook his head again.

"Frank," He said softly, sitting up as Frank was, and he reached across the bed and touched Frank's cheeks, "I'm twenty-two. We have a very long time, years and years."

Frank did not respond. Clearly, that was not what he had been expecting. He stared between the empty space that separated them, and Mikey could see the disappointment in his eyes. In a way, Mikey understood. Frank wanted to be with Mikey forever, but everything was happening so quickly. Maybe someday, Mikey decided, but most definitely, not now.

Frank stayed quiet, his lips slightly pursed as he averted his eyes towards the bed, and Mikey watched him. Mikey was not sure what to say or if he should say something. So, Mikey simply reached across the bed and trailed his hand over Frank's arm. This spawned the tiniest smile on Frank's lips, and he raised his head towards the man across from him. "You're very beautiful," Frank whispered and crawled closer.

Mikey could feel a blush surface on his cheeks as Frank moved even closer. Their bodies pressed together, and his heart beat grew rapid. Mikey could feel a sudden sort of excitement begin to grow in his chest as Frank pulled himself over Mikey, pressing his lips against the painter's. His cold hands tensed around Mikey's sides suddenly, and Mikey found himself pushed onto the bed, back against the mattress.

Frank deepened the kiss almost instantly, slipping his tongue into Mikey's mouth fiercely, running it over Mikey's teeth with a soft groan. He clearly liked that. He wanted something very, very badly. Mikey could feel the hard lump inside Frank's pants against his thigh. The need instantly hit Mikey. He had not been satisfied in so long. His body ached with a certain lust for whatever the man above him could give him. Perhaps he did not want to be turned, but maybe Mikey could offer something else just as gratifying.

His body.

Without any hesitation, Mikey moved his hand away from Frank's neck where he was clinging to the man, trailing it down his body to the bulge. Frank seemed to be taken by surprise because he gasped loudly, his eyes suddenly opening, red rings dilating to nearly nothing. Frank's breathing became suddenly erratic and frantic.

"Michael," He gasped, moving his mouth to Mikey's neck as Mikey ran his hand over the bulge, applying more pressure, tensing his fingers, "Wh-What are you...?" He could not even finish the sentence. His words turned to a soft moan. Mikey pressed his hand harder, biting his lip to keep from moaning. 

"I want you," Mikey whispered, moving his hand higher and slipping it inside of the gray pants.

The doctor's lips moved, but it seemed like he could not speak, he watched down his chest as the hand moved inside of his pants. "Good lord, Mikey," He breathed, raising his head towards the painter whose eyes were hazed with complete lust, "It's been such a long time since I've been intimate."

"I want you," Mikey repeated, and he moved his hand over the outside of Frank's underwear, hand grazing over his rather remarkable erection. He did not care if it had been a hundred years since the last time Frank had done anybody. He wanted this now. Years of repressed sexual needs were coming back to Mikey. He wanted to be satisfied. Mikey pulled his hand back and forth, stroking Frank through his boxers, biting his lip. Frank began moaning, his hands tensing the sheets beside Mikey's head.

Mikey moved his hand faster, feeling a side of his personality that he never showed, reveal itself. "I have condoms," Mikey whispered frantically, "I have lubricant." Mikey felt like he was about to jump Frank's bones, but he knew he could not do that. That would be very, very bad. "Come on, please," Mikey hissed, pulling on Frank's pants now, removing his hands, "Please."

Frank moaned again, this time louder as Mikey pulled his pants away to free his erection and pale, cold legs. "Alright, okay," Frank finally gasped, sitting back on his bottom on the bed and pulling off his pants, "We.... If you trust me."

Mikey sat up too, following Frank and pressing his lips against Frank's sitting on his knees, wrapping his arms around the doctor's shoulders. After a few seconds, he pulled back and grinned. "I trust you, Frank," He found himself gazing into Frank's red eyes. The reality of the situation hit him. He was not scared, despite the fact he was going to have sex with a vampire. It did not matter. Frank loved him. It would be okay.

Mikey laid back on his back, parting his legs. Frank sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching Mikey like he was a meal before he moved closer, dark eyes running over the other male's tiny frame. He licked his lips and moved his hands over the buttons to his white shirt, pulling them apart to reveal that Adonis like body that Mikey was so used to painting. He already knew every crevice, every indention of skin. Mikey was already familiar.

Frank moved closer and very gently pulled away Mikey's unbelievably tight jeans. Mikey groaned when his pelvis was finally exposed, flexing his toes as Frank rested between his legs. He stretched his arms and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it onto the floor where there was a whimper.

Torn from the intensely sexual moment, Mikey and Frank both looked off the side of the bed to see Alabaster, the shirt having hit his back, gazing up towards the two minutes away from being inside each other. Frank turned away clearly not caring and pressed his face to Mikey's stomach. Mikey, overcome with sudden lust, moaned, and he tried to regain the focus he had before, but it was gone. The image of the dog watching was still aching stuck in his brain.

"F-Frank," He moaned, but it more or less just sounded slutty apparently because Frank replied with a moan as he nibbled at Mikey's pale stomach. "N-No, Frank," Mikey breathed, tugging at his hair, "Your-Your dog."

"My dog?" Frank raised his head, confused, and glanced down at Alabaster, whose mouth was open, soft pants coming from between his dog lips as he watched the two. Frank laughed softly, turning back towards his lover, "He does not even know what he's watching." And he pressed his face back against Mikey's stomach.

Mikey moaned again, this time more out of anguish than pleasure. "Yes, he does," Mikey gasped, pressing on Frank's head, pulling him away, "Look at his face. He knows exactly what this is, and he's jealous. Make him leave."

Frank groaned audibly, pulling himself away from Mikey as he stood up. His erection was painfully obvious as he stood and clapped his hands towards the husky. "Go on," Frank snapped, and the husky stood up, shaking off the shirt and whimpering as he padded out. Frank followed him and shut the door before turning back towards the painter nearly naked on the bed. "Where are your... items?" He breathed, eyes trailing over the man on the bed.

Mikey could hardly believe this was happening. He anchored himself up against the headboard, watching Frank across the room. "My nightstand," He said, gesturing towards the little side table on the right side of his bed. Frank moved across the room very quickly, flinging open the nightstand faster than what Mikey thought was humanly possible. Within seconds, his long, thin hands found the black bottle of lube and a condom, and he crawled back onto the bed above Mikey, between his legs. Frank pressed his head forward and kissed Mikey's chest, his lips soft at first, then turning to nibbles.

His teeth, being so sharp, instantly caused an attractive amount of pain. Mikey arched his back, finding a deep, low moan. Mikey felt foolish for moaning so much. Usually, Armando was the loud one. For a brief second, with the thought of Armando, Mikey felt very bad, but Mikey cast that away as he instantly was reminded of all the terrible things Armando had done.

Before Mikey was fully in-tuned to what was happening again, Frank was removing both of their underwear. He balled the two boxers up in his hands and tossed them across the room before moving close again and kissing Mikey's inner thigh and the very base of his cock. Mikey found himself moaning again. He could not control it. Frank's lips ran the length of his cock, base to tip once, accompanied by his tongue, and Mikey felt like he nearly could not control himself.

"F-Fuck," He gasped, slightly embarrassed that he was cussing in front of Frank, but that worry quickly vanished when he realized how much cussing was soon to follow. He cracked his eyes open, forcing himself to watch as Frank sat up on his knees, opening the black bottle.

Frank dipped his fingers in one at a time till each was fully coated in the lubricant. He caught Mikey's eyes before he lowered his hand and ran his lubed up fingers the entire length of his erection. Mikey, despite not even being touched, felt the urge to moan again, but he swallowed it as Frank retrieved the bottle again, dipping his index and middle fingers inside the bottle one more time.

"I'm going to assume you're not a virgin," He breathed, sitting on his knees for a moment, staring up and down the length of Mikey's completely naked body. Mikey, unable to find words, shook his head frantically. Of course not. Armando had made sure of that. This caused a tiny smirk on Frank's face as he moved back closer to Mikey. "I'll fuck you the right way, Michael," Frank hissed in a way Mikey had never heard before. Mikey's eyes grew wide. Did... Did he just?

Before Mikey could question anything, two sticky fingers were shoved inside of him so abruptly, he gasped and flexed his legs. His eyes shut themselves, but Mikey forced them open as he stared down the bed. Frank was leaning close to his entrance, his middle and index finger pulling out just as quickly as they had entered, his free hand steadying himself by holding onto Mikey's knee.

"F-Fuck," Mikey gasped, his heart suddenly pounding, resisting the urge to grind his ass down against Frank's two fingers. He wanted more than what the two digits could offer him. Frank repeated the motion several times, stretching until he could fit his third, ring finger in. Mikey was gasping, sputtering, and now pushing back against Frank's fingers. "Fuck me," He gasped, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Frank seemed amused by this, but he continued, pressing in farther until the muscle suddenly contracted, and Mikey let out a loud moan. He had finally found the sweet spot. Frank smirked, pulling back out his fingers and lifting up each of Mikey's legs and fitting himself in between. Mikey's mouth was wide open, and his hands were clenched around the headboard. He was ready.

Frank did not waste a second. He lined his throbbing erection up and jerked his waist forward. Mikey gasped out, half in stinging pain and half in ecstasy. Frank pushed again, and Mikey rolled his head back, crying out again, lips shaking. There was a certain amount of ache that Mikey was all too used to with this, but honestly, he was beginning to like it. With the third push, Mikey's prostate was finally found, and Mikey let out a loud gasp, his eyes flinging open and obscenities leaking from his lips. He pushed back against Frank in opposite intervals of Frank's thrusts. A slur of curse words were now being uttered between the two, soft hisses leaking from Frank's lips as he grew faster, hands tight around Mikey's shoulders.

His cursing turned to words... Sentences as his thrusts pounded harder. Mikey was not registering it at first, and perhaps, had he not been where he was then, he would have been more concerned. Frank, in his whispering, was hissing about somebody. "I'll kill him," Frank barely breathed below Mikey's moans, "I'll break his neck."

But Mikey was climaxing. He did not even hear the two sentences that were ominous and very audible. "I-I'm close," He barely whispered, his legs shaking as he reached the summit of his pleasure, his eyelids fluttering.

"I-I know," Frank gasped, and, without warning, he flipped Mikey onto all four's on the bed, gripping his hands around his waist, pressing himself harder and harder into Mikey's ass, faster and faster, "W-Wait. Just-Just a second." Mikey's lips were trembling, curse words dripping out of his mouth like syrup, his arms quaking, barely able to support his body. He liked this position so much more, but he was so weak with the impending orgasm, he suddenly arched his back as it grew to an unbelievable amount.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming," He gasped, burying his face in the pillow he had been laying on that smelled like sweat. He could feel himself so immensely close, seconds away, lips shaking, moans so low and whorish, he felt dirty.

"FUCK!" Frank cried, so incredibly unlike his character usually. He clasped his hands around Mikey's waist and let his seed go deep, deep inside of Mikey. Mikey took that as his cue, and he let his go as well, cumming hard and arching his back higher, face hidden as he gasped for air. 

It was over.

They stayed there for a second, collecting themselves, before Frank pulled out incredibly gingerly. Mikey, taken aback by what had just happened, stayed where he was for a moment longer, trying to process the events before he gave up and fell, drenched in sweat, onto his stomach. Had that really just happened? Everything he had ever wanted from Frank... Everything. He had just had sex with his muse. And you know what?

He loved it.

For the first time in his life, Mikey was completely and totally satisfied. He rolled onto his back to see Frank sitting on his knees, watching Mikey. "Well?" Frank asked softly, tilting his head, "How do you feel?"

Mikey began to grin, rolling his head back, "Great!" And for the first time he could remember, he was not lying.

"Good," Frank whispered, and he crawled up beside Mikey, pulling the covers over the two. Even though they were both drenched in sweat, Frank pulled him close, and Mikey laid his head against his chest. "I love you, darling," Frank whispered sweetly, brushing back Mikey's hair.

Mikey smiled softly, suddenly overcome with an aching drowsiness. He could feel his eyes pulling closed as he laid against Frank. "I... I love you too, Frank," Mikey whispered softly before he fell back into the dark abyss of sleep for the remainder of the night.


	15. Homicide

The very next time Mikey opened his eyes, it was morning. Very slowly, he turned his head towards the glowing alarm clock on the bedside table to see that it was only nine A.M. He groaned softly, but not out of irritation, as he pressed his palms over his eyes for a moment before turning to his side and seeing that his bed was empty.

It took him a moment to connect the wires, but, after a second, he was reminded of the night before. His backside still ached pleasantly from the memory of the pleasure and fun they had enjoyed. It had been, without a single doubt, the best sexual experience he had ever had and one of the best nights of his life. Absently, Mikey moved one hand across the bed and rubbed the place on the mattress where Frank would be laying if he was there. The spot was cool to the touch, rather like an ice sculpture had reclined there rather than a human being.

Mikey could feel himself smile softly as he moved his hands over his face and rubbed at his cheeks. So good. So, so good. He stretched his naked chest before he stood up from his bed. The drowsy morning light gleamed in the window across from his bed and off of his pale, unblemished skin. Mikey blinked and he could see outside. It was cloudy, signs of rain or snow hanging in the low lying clouds. Mikey moved his naked body towards the window, and he leaned against it for a moment, gazing off. The trees were grazed with snow, as was the ground and rocks. Off in the distance, Mikey could make out the shape of Midnight Falls. Mikey moved closer to the window so that his chest touched the freezing glass, and it sent a chill down his spine. He could see the raging river, it's black water and white riptides.

What a strange world, he thought to himself as he rubbed his tense nipples against the freezing glass, to exist beside vampires.

Mikey pressed himself harder against the glass, his waist against the cool wall. He moaned softly, rubbing his body against the wall, but he felt ridiculous. Why was he wasting his time with this? He had... Frank now. Frank would do anything he wanted. This wall was doing nothing to help his slight erection except give him a rug burn.

Mikey pulled away, rubbing his now cold chest, before he moved towards his closet and slid on clothing. From there, he moved into the hallway, where a sudden aura of complete and overwhelming cold shook over his body. The fuzzy, light feeling that had engulfed him before was now completely gone. Mikey stood there, half expecting to smell bacon cooking or hear Frank's dog, but his home was completely and utterly empty.

"Frank?" Mikey called and waited several seconds for a reply. There was nothing. Just silence. Mikey could feel his heart begin to beat faster, but he had no idea why. Something wasn't right. Something... Wasn't right. Mikey padded across the hall, down the spiral stairs and into the kitchen. Although he knew he wouldn't be there, Mikey couldn't stop himself from turning and expecting to see Frank standing at his stove. But he wasn't there.

Mikey's eyes caught the knife laying beside the sink, the one he had used the night that he had cut his finger. It was stained red at the end, his blood forever engraved into the metal of the knife. He'd washed it so many times, yet the blood hadn't come off. Mikey could hear his heart in his ears. Something. Wasn't. Right.

Suddenly, tearing Mikey out of his thoughts, there was an ear-shattering slamming at the door. So loud and violent and immediate that Mikey jumped and unintentionally threw himself against the wall. The knocking was frantic and panicked like whomever was knocking was trying to break down the door with their bare hands.

Mikey stood there, staring at the door, and his chest filled with anxiety. Something in his stomach told him to walk away right then. Hide in his basement. Anything. But no, Mikey moved forward in a haze of confusion and terror, and opened the front door.

Standing in the doorway, in complete hysterics, was Armando.

In a sudden burst of terror, Mikey threw himself against the door to shut Armando out. Frank's words rang in his ear, his threats, his warnings, what he'd do if he saw Armando again. No, Mikey knew he was serious. "Armando, no!" Mikey gasped, but Armando was already shoving his way inside, pushing his body through the small crack until he was in Mikey's house. Mikey was thrown backwards, disoriented, heart pounding.

"Mikey! Oh my god, Mikey!" Armando gasped, and he grabbed Mikey's hands, "You're-You're- Holy shit! Mikey!" Tears were running down his face, and he pulled on Mikey's wrists, "Mikey, come! Mikey! Damn it!"

Mikey stayed rooted on the spot, and he roughly pulled his hands away from Armando's. "Get out!" Mikey hissed, pointing towards the door, "Please!"

"No! NO! YOU NEED TO GET OUT! LISTEN, MIKEY!" Armando begged, breaking into more tears. Before Mikey could say anything, he continued. "I was right, Mikey!" Armando sobbed, his shaking hand moving into his pocket and pulling out his phone, "Mikey, please! I was right! Look!" Mikey took the phone from his shaking hand and flicked it open. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but nothing in his life could prepare him for what he saw next.

On the screen, there was only a face. A malformed, unhuman face. A mouth with an unhinged jaw, white, sharp teeth spiked with crimson blood that contrasted from a black, gaping hole of a throat. A pale, sheet white face. And red, glowing eyes.

Mikey dropped the phone, and he could hear his heartbeat. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He turned very slowly towards Armando, his eyes wide in terror. He couldn't find the words to speak. The air to breath.

Frank had gone to kill Armando.

"H-He attacked me, Mikey!" Armando cried, his voice gaining volume. He turned his neck towards the side and for the first time, Mikey saw gash marks in his neck and the blood running from them, "I-I screamed, and-and he left, but-but I KNEW HE WOULD COME HERE!"

Armando lunged towards Mikey and grabbed his arms, "I CALLED YOU FIFTEEN TIMES, MIKEY! HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU!" He was screaming now, his voice at an unrealistic volume. Mikey could feel the panic in his bones and body. He pressed his hand against Armando's mouth.

"Shh," He whispered frantically, but Armando fought against that.

"Aniese is here, okay? ANIESE IS HERE! SHE'S-SHE'S-WE'RE GONNA TAKE YOU AWAY!" Armando was screaming again, his saliva against Mikey's hand. Mikey was nearly crying with panic as he gripped Armando's shirt.

"Shh! PLEASE, ARMANDO!" Mikey cried, nearly in hysterics too, "PLEASE!"

At once, Armando stopped sobbing, his aching cries turning to nothing as they stood in the entryway, frozen. It was silent in the home for a minute before there were the sounds of soft footsteps coming down the stairs.

Very slowly, Mikey turned towards Armando. "He's here," He whispered.

In complete and utter terror, the two looked towards the spiral stairs. Standing at the foot was the vampire, blood on his chin and suit, his eyes black and wide. He tilted his head, his eyes turning to a glare as they fell on Armando's hands on Mikey. His fists suddenly clenched.

"You!" Frank hissed, his teeth baring behind white lips, "I should have killed you while you slept!"

Without warning, the vampire crossed the room in three steps and grabbed Armando. He ripped the man away from Mikey in one push. Mikey was thrown backwards against the wall, jarred a little. He watched in complete terror as Frank effortlessly tossed Armando across the room. He flew like a ragdoll right into the stairs and then fell into a crumpling, groaning pile.

Frank started towards him when Mikey suddenly found himself screaming. "NO! NO! FRANK! NO!" Mikey screamed, his voice strained, "PLEASE! NO!"

In an instant, Frank spun himself around. He jerked one finger towards the mass on the floor, "DO YOU LOVE THIS THING?" He demanded in such a tone that Mikey had never heard. It struck fear through his heart, but Mikey blinked through the tears.

"NO! NO, FRANK! I LOVE YOU!" He cried, in aching sobs, his whole body shaking, "NO!"

To this, Frank only scoffed. He turned away and crossed the room again until he was right beside Armando. "I'll rip his throat out," He hissed below his breath, "I'll rip it right out."

Mikey was in full panic mode. He stupidly took off at a run and threw himself towards Frank, attempting to knock the vampire away from his friend, but Frank hissed, throwing one strong arm into Mikey's stomach, sending him sailing back against the wall. Mikey's back and head hit first, and he fall back onto his stomach. Disoriented, he raised his head. "Armando," He breathed, blinking several times as his eyes adjusted.

Across the room, he could make out the vampire kneeling beside the moaning mass. The sounds of a jaw snapping off its' hinging. Terror flooded Mikey's veins as he became aware, and he clamped his hands over his eyes just as the sounds of a long scream were cut deadly short by the sound of a snap and something wet.


End file.
